12 Reasons Why
by the Last Flowerchild
Summary: When the Toki begins to lose himself a struggle for his life, Pickles is the only one he can turn to. Can the drummer save the guitarist from suicide, cancer, and the traumatizing memories from both of their pasts? Pickles/Toki slash.
1. Chapter 1

****WARNINGS****

**Slash, drug/alcohol usage, and bad language.  
****If you don't like it, don't read, darling. ^_^**

****DISCLAIMER****

**Don't own any characters except Toki's uncle & the idea for the story.**

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

"_And I don't want you and I don't need you  
__Don't bother to resist or I'll beat you  
__It's not your fault that you're always wrong  
__The weak ones are there to justify the strong..."_

_-Marilyn Manson, The Beautiful People_

**Chapter 1, Part 1  
**_**Kiss The Floor**_

Once the stupid concert was over, the fan girls began swooning around Skwisgaar, Nathan, and Toki...all Pickles did was stomp off back to the bus, lock the doors, and open himself up a bottle of top-of-the-line vodka. He'd learned long ago that any problem that he had could be solved by that stinging, burning, wonderful sensation of the alcohol as it slipped down his throat. He gagged sometimes at the first few sips, surprised at the potent taste, but in the end he'd always end up devouring all the booze in the room, even the special, expensive kind Ofdensen hid away for the long ride home. Everyone would get mad at him, say they hated him for drinking their share of the alcohol, but he didn't care. Come the first few sips, nothing mattered outside of that _taste. _

The taste, so warm and soothing. It made his brain slow and his blood cease its flow in his veins; it made his heart skip beats and his thoughts go wild and twisted. Pickles smiled tonight as he opened up his third bottle. He pressed the cold lip of the bottle to his mouth, holding back laughter. Everything was just so damn funny, so light and whimsical now. He closed his eyes, let his mind swim around and be set ablaze by the vodka.

The concert in Germany had been freezing. The fans had been immensely loud, screaming until the drummer's ears were pounding and numb. It had been snowing on him, that he remembered. He'd looked down, seen the shockingly white flecks of snow contrasting to Nathan's black hair and Toki's chocolatey brown; it glittered in Skwisgaar's blond hair, made it shine like the golden, treasured rays of the sun. He hadn't really noticed Murderface. He'd tried to ignore him—the bassist always made sideways comments about the drummer and his drinking.

"Gonna go get drunk?" Murderface had asked him after the show, once the whole band had gathered backstage. Pickles had simply shrugged and looked down, knowing that the eyes of his other band mates were boring into him, praying for him to say, _'No'._

He didn't. "Yeah, so what? What the hell do you care?"

Murderface had shaken his head, almost in disappointment. "How about you try _not _getting drunk tonight? Lasht time you locked ush outta the fucking bush."

"I'll do what I wanna do, dildo!" he'd retorted, ignoring the glare that Nathan was giving him. "Besides, what else is 'dere to do? Fuck the stupid groupies? Alcohol's better'n that." the truth was that he'd already had a good many drinks before going out on stage tonight, and this fact was made evident by the way that he was slightly slurring his words. Every movement he made was jerky and unsure.

As he'd walked back to the bus, Toki had been the only one with the balls to try to talk him out of it. "Pickle, you don't gots to get drunk after _every _shows, you know."

"What else am I gonna do, then?" he had snapped, jamming his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket; the wind was chilling and sharp, cutting him to the bone. Toki just kept following him like some kind of pitiful animal, his pale eyes cast down at the snow as they walked.

"You coulds comes with us and the fan girls."

"Why? S'they can fuck me and I can just kick them out?" Pickles glared over at the guitarist. "I can get screwed any time, but the booze is there _right now."_

"Buts-"

"Look, just leave me alone, okay? You're just drivin' me fuckin' crazy." and he'd retreated into the sanctuary of the tour bus, slammed the door in Toki's face, and locked every entrance. The Norwegian didn't turn and leave, though. Instead he stood outside and pounded on the door.

"Pickle, lets me in! Please!"

"Go fuck yourself!" he howled as he took a sip of vodka. Damn. It was empty. He let it fall from his grasp onto the floor. Slowly, knowing that he had more than poor balance when he drank, he rose from his seat and went to open himself another bottle of booze. Luckily he found some champagne that had been left over from the last album release party. It would do.

It was sweeter than sweet, almost too much so. It coated his throat with a honey sugariness, mingled with the strong, stinging taste of the vodka. He smacked his lips and a look of disgust came across his face, but still he drank more until Toki's screaming became nothing more than an echoing, distant annoyance.

"Please lets me in! It's colds out here!"

He laughed brokenly and leaned against the wall of the bus. "S'nat my prablem, dude. Go an' get fucked by one of 'dem stupid fan-sluts y'like s'much."

"I cares abouts you more then thems! Please opens the door..."

His face fell and his laughter melted away into nothingness. Suddenly he felt very small and insignificant in the confines of that large bus; somebody cared about him? What a load of shit. He chuckled awkwardly and slurred, "T-Toki, whadda mean y'care 'bout me? Ain't _nobody _ever cared about me."

"Well I dos, now open up the fuckings door before you drinks yourself to death."

"Too late fer that, dude. I'm practically in my damn grave already." and he took another large, bitterly sweet swallow of the champagne and fell back against the wall, sighing heavily. There was nothing now, he was beyond the reach of the world. There was just him and his alcohol.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 1, Part 2  
**_**The Only One Who Ever Cared**_

Cold. Biting, gnawing, freezing hatred clawed at his thin jacket, blew his hair into his face. It was the wind that was killing him. It was hard, each gust of it hitting him and crushing him against the door of the tour bus, coming at him like a hundred pounds of icy death. Toki struggled for breath as he pounded weakly on the door. His hands were shaking, grasping at warmth that wouldn't come. He wouldn't die, the Klokateers would get to him and aid him first, but he'd certainly not be _alive _as much after this. His chest hitched, took in short, gasping breaths of stabbing cold German air. Again he called, his voice shaking almost as much as his whole body.

"P-Pickle, opens up the d-d-door please. This ams g-getting reallys ah-ah-ahnnoying!" And finally there came some kind of salvation. The door to the tour bus clicked, signifying that the lock was undone. Toki let out a relieved, grateful cry and struggled to grip the handle and pull it open. Pickles was sitting on one of the couches that occupied the center of the huge tour bus. His eyes were half closed and watering as he finished off the bottle of champagne.

"Heya, Toki. Y'cold? I unlocked the fuckin' door 'cause you sounded hurt or somethin'..." Toki just nodded and closed the door. Taking off his jacket, he hurried over to where the drummer was sitting and pressed a hand to his forehead. Pickles didn't hesitate to push him away unsteadily and slur, "Whadda think you're doin'?"

Truthfully, he had no clue; all Toki knew was that when he was feeling sick, sometimes the doctor would place a hand on his forehead and say if he had a fever. Did drinking give you a fever? Probably not, but either way it didn't seem that important as the drummer suddenly paled and grasped his stomach. Toki leaned closer to him, but was again pushed away.

"Pickle, what ams wrong?"

"G-Get away...I gatta—gonna pu-" he used a burst of unusual strength to completely shove Toki to the side and fall to his knees on the floor. The Norwegian hurried to help him up, but Pickles stuck out an arm and tried to keep him away. "I'm gonna be sick...just go get a trashcan or somethin'."

"Okays."

"Hurry up!" he said, biting his lip and breathing hard in an effort to calm his raging, turning stomach. "An' get me s'more booze, too!"

Toki obeyed his first request without hesitation, and in an instant he was standing in front of Pickles holding out a plastic trash can. "Am you goings to be oka-"

And the drummer retched and vomited into the can, hugging his sides and shutting his eyes tightly against the disgusting taste that was rising in his throat. The honey-sweet taste of the champagne was gone, replaced by that acidic, stinging sickness. He fell against the couch, let his head fall back. Toki watched him with a look of concern on his face. Once he was sure the drummer was done, he put the vomit-filled trashcan to the side and placed a hand on Pickles' shoulder.

"Ams you okay?"

"D'I look ok-" he gagged, pressed a hand to his mouth. "-okay?"

"You looks drunk." he commented, grimacing at the disgusting smell of the drummer's breath. "You wants to gos to the bathroom now and get cleans up?"

"I...I gatta...ugh..." he shuttered and let his eyes fall closed. Toki sighed, put some of his long hair behind his ears, and tried not to act too annoyed as he rose to his feet.

"Stupids Pickle," he muttered to himself, scooping the unconscious drummer up into his arms. "you gets drunk, pukes, and then blames me for the hangsover...I hates you like this, you knows. I reallys do." he took this opportunity to get out his frustration against Pickles, knowing that there was no way he'd be heard. That was why, as he gently laid the sleeping drummer in the white porcelain bathroom of the tour bus, he hissed in his ear, "This ams the last time, Pickle. This ams the last time I ams going to watch you pukes and smells your gross breath...I'm tellings Charles and he wills makes you better..._someone _has to makes you better, or you're goings to drowns yourself in all that alcohols." He gently pressed a chilly hand to Pickles' cheek and repeated in a whisper, "Someones has to makes you better."

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 1, Part 3  
**_**Unfair**_

"Stupids Toki, he ammnest deads, just unconscious!"

"But he ams so..."

"Gets that thing over there and pours some colds water on him."

"Cold?"

"Ja, idiots. That ammnest the only thing that wakes up a drunk persons."

"Ams you sure?"

"Of course I am, now go aheads and dos it!"

"Okays, hold on."

Pickles let out an agonized groan and shifted; what the fuck was going on? Everything was cold—freezing...was he in the bathroom? Toki always took him into the bathroom after he'd gotten drunk...there was a disgustingly sick taste at the back of his mouth, one that made him want to gag and eat a whole tube of toothpaste.

_Cold! _It hit him sharply, stabbing at his every pore and making his nerves scream. His green eyes popped open, stared up at Toki as he placed a cup back in the bathroom sink. Next to him a tall, slender man stood, his blond hair gracefully falling over his shoulders in natural waves of gold. Pickles covered his stinging, aching eyes with his hands and moaned.

"What the fuck's goin' an?"

"See, Tokis?" Skwisgaar said, chuckling wickedly. "He ammnest not dead, just hungs-over."

"Oh, Pickle!"

The drummer felt something hit him like a thousand pounds. When he could manage to open his eyes he was hugging Toki to him, and the Norwegian was nearly sobbing. "T-Toki?" he asked tiredly. "What's wrang, Toki? You're okay?"

"Ams _you _okay? I thoughts you were-"

"Tokis, that's enough!" Skwisgaar snapped, pulling the Norwegian up off of Pickles. "Don'ts um-barass yourskelf anymores, just go and tell Ofdensen that Pickle ams up."

Pickles watched as Toki lowered his head and quietly slunk out of the room, calling, "Ofdensens, he ams up now!"

The drummer held his head in his hands, shut his eyes tightly against the yelling. "Fuck, why's he gatta be so damn _loud? _I gat a hell of a headache..."

"Shuts up." Skwisgaar spat, glaring down at him.

"What's your prablem?" he asked coldly, returning the Swede's venomous look. _"You _ain't the one with the hangover."

Skwisgaar just sneered down at him and shook his head. "You're a complete idiots! Don't you know how scared you made Tokis last night? Don't you even remember what happened last night, what you dids to him?"

Pickles shook his head. "Nah, all I know is 'dat I gat sick and he was right there, like he always is."

"Ja, likes he _always _ams." and the Swede left the room as Ofdensen entered. As usual, his suit was finely pressed, without a wrinkle or crease, and his face held a look of grave seriousness. Upon seeing the drummer sitting against the white tile of the wall like that, he frowned and took a seat on the edge of the bathtub. He was oddly calm, uncharacteristically leisurely as he began to speak.

"So, you're alright now?"

"Wasn't I last night?" he asked, watching as Ofdensen reached over and shut the bathroom door softly. A frown came across the drummer's face. Something wasn't right; something very, very bad was about to happen. Something disastrous. "Dude, what's up? Why's everyone so pissy today?"

"Toki told me," he said, sounding quite displeased. "he told me that you locked him out in the cold and when you finally chose to open the door, you'd drank all the alcohol in the whole bus. The _whole _bus,Pickles."

"Yeah, so?" he inquired, chuckling lightly. "Still wasn't enough to-"

"To what? Kill you?"

The laughter and sarcasm melted from his face and tone. "What's up, dude? What do you mean?"

Ofdensen sighed heavily and let his head rest on his palm. He gave Pickles a dismal look, one full of both concern and pity. "Pickles, the drinking's got to stop. It's ruining the band, breaking everyone apart. If Toki isn't busy trying to make sure that you don't drink yourself to death all at once, he's arguing with Nathan to keep you in the band; Skwisgaar hates you for what you're doing to everyone, and between him and Murderface's constant complaining, it's going to be impossible to even think about putting together another album. We're all very worried about you."

Pickles scoffed and shook his head. "No you're nat! Nobody's worried about me!"

"Yes we are! We're all very concerned about-"

"The music, the money, and the stupid fame, right?" he screamed, ignoring the pounding in his head that resulted from this. His headache was worsened, but he didn't care. He wouldn't let Ofdensen bullshit him like this. He wouldn't allow himself to be sent back into rehab because he thought that _people cared. _Nobody cared. People were useless, heartless, and selfish. Nobody cared about him and he didn't care about anybody in return.

"What about Toki?" Ofdensen wondered.

His face reddened. "Toki..."

The only person who ever cared enough to take his alcohol away, to tell him that his breath stank from the smell of his own sickness...the only person who had ever tried to stop him and had gotten punished again and again for it. He was like a brother to Pickles, a best friend, and a protector. His guardian. The drummer knew this, but still he said coolly to Ofdensen, "I don't care about nobody. You can all piss aff, 'cause it's my life. If Toki wants to make me stap drinking, then he can just go screw himself, 'cause I don't care. I'm _never _gonna stop, not until I fuckin' _kill myself."_

"Fine then!" he exclaimed, utterly defeated. "Drink yourself to death and let us replace you! It's nothing for me to worry about!" and he went out of the bathroom, slamming the door. Pickles was taken aback by this uncharacteristic display of anger from Ofdenesn. Usually he was incredibly, inhumanly calm and precise, but now he was turned upside down, and all because Pickles had had a few drinks.

"Just a few." he mumbled to himself, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to hide the weakness in his voice. "Nothin' wrang with just a few..."

A knock came at the door and before Pickles could react to it, Toki was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his pale eyes shining with sadness and worry. There was also something else there as well, something that greatly resembled exhaustion. Pickles felt a stab of guilt pierce his heart and he swallowed, tried to keep this feeling from growing.

"Hey, Toki. You okay?"

"Ja." he said, forcing a little smile to his face, trying to show the drummer that he was fine, more whole and sane than Ofdensen. It was as if he were trying to prove to Pickles that he wouldn't snap like the others, wouldn't completely turn on him.

"You wanna sit?" he asked, motioning to the cold floor beside him. Toki nodded and looked away. As soon as he did, that little smile disappeared and melted away.

"Sures," he muttered meekly. "if you'll lets me." He sat down next to the drummer and they were both silent for the longest time before, "I ams really worried abouts you, Pickle. We alls are, but especially me. You drinks so much and you never stops, never think abouts it. It makes me so scared that one day I'll just wakes up and ones of my brothers will bes...well, you'll be gone."

Abrupt, crushing honesty. Pickles wasn't used to it. It caught him off guard, sparked up his temper. "What the fuck's it your business if I drink? My life's hard, okay? Sometimes I just wanna get drunk and forget about everything, so why can't you let me? I've lived thru shit, and what've you done? Huh?" Toki looked away, his pale eyes still shimmering painfully in the light of the bathroom. He said nothing, kept silent. This only succeeded to make the drummer angrier and demand, "Answer the Gad damned question, what have you lived thru that's been so fuckin' hard?"

"A lots." he said sheepishly, trying to hold back the hurt that was in his voice. "I've lived thru a lots, okay?"

"You don't know what I do, though." Pickles insisted, feeling his face burning with anger. "You don't know how fuckin' hard life can be, not like I do. I had to live outta a fuckin' garbage can for most of my life, and what have you had to do? You just came over here from Norway, just like that! You never had to work—your parents were rich!"

Toki smiled at this, at the lie he'd told so many people before. 'Oh ja,' he'd say cunningly, 'my parents-es were sos fuckings rich. We hads a big house and everythings. They bought me anythings I wanted, too, and tolds me they loved me and...' he'd go on and on about the life he'd never had. Somehow Pickles had believed it. "I've lived thru a lots." was all he could think to say.

"No you haven't!" Pickles yelled, narrowing his eyes at the Norwegian hatefully. "You don't know anything about the real world! I bet everyone in your damn life's just been all happy and smiling; 'dat's why you're always so fuckin' good all the time, always laughing..." was his envy showing in his voice? He didn't know, so he abruptly changed the subject. "You don't know anything about how hard the real world is. _Nothing."_

_Nothing. _That word echoed in his brain, made Toki remember a time back in Norway when he had just been a small child. Yes, he knew damn well how hard life could be. He'd lived thru hell as a child, and now he was _nothing._ It had chipped him away, eroded his sanity and happiness; it was only by some miracle that he found it in his heart to have compassion for anyone else. He remembered so many things about his childhood, so many things that had proved that he was _nothing._

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 1, Part 4  
**_**The Grace Of God**_

"Our Father, who art in heaven hallowed be thy Name..." the words left his lips again and again, but he didn't know what they meant. He said them every day so many times, but they were lifeless and meaningless. His father always loomed over him, walked behind him and silently read his Bible; Toki just knelt there for hours on the cold wooden floor—sometimes in the snow—feeling a sharp aching in his knees travel up his legs and spine, but still he prayed.

Toki's eyes were shut tight against the creeping pain in his knees and his hands clasping one another in a sort of quiet desperation. Still he repeated emotionlessly, "...thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread..."

"With more passion." his father demanded, slapping his son's shoulders sharply. Toki let out a little hiss of pain.

"What, father?"

"_Sir, _not father. Never father."

"Sorry. What, _sir?"_

"Say your prayers with more passion and please sit up straighter." his voice was firm, signifying that his words were meant to be more than a request; they were a command that demanded immediate obedience.

The little boy straightened his shoulders obediently and said thru teeth gritted in pain, "And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temp-"

"You sound as if you are in pain, Toki." his father interrupted, slowly closing his bible. "Are you?"

He nodded and answered in a whisper, "Y-Yes, sir."

"Then do not show it. God has no mercy for the weak and mindless." and he went to sit down on the couch to resume his reading. Meanwhile Toki knelt, his legs shaking; he shifted, tried to distribute his weight from one knee to the other, but found this action useless. Distractedly, his father glanced up from his bible and smiled coldly. "Toki, do you _want _to go to Hell?"

He glared down at the floor, his pale eyes full of agony. At that moment he knew nothing else, not the chill of air or the smell of his father's old, aged Bible, only the horrible ache in his knees. "No, sir."

"Then say your prayers and say them right."

He took a deep breath and began again, feeling his whole body scream in anguish, "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

"That was good," his father mused. "but you can do better, can't you?"

Toki hesitated before pleading, "Please, sir, I can't kneel anymore."

"And why not? Doesn't God deserve your prayers?" the boy stifled a sob and fell backwards, feeling the pain in his knees magnify and pound thru his skinny, small frame. His father got up, rolled his eyes, and said sternly, "You can do better, can't you, Toki? You can try not to be so weak?"

"Yes, sir." he whispered.

"Good, then get back on your knees and say it again." and he gave Toki a small, wicked smile and added hatefully, "Again, until you can't stand it anymore."

"But I can't stand it _now." _

He shrugged, clearly unconcerned about his son's words, and forced Toki to his knees. "Begin."

"Our Father, who art in heaven hallowed be thy Name, thy king-"

"Louder."

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be-"

"Not good enough." he interrupted, standing next to the boy and scowling down at him. "Start over."

"Please, sir, my knees..."

"Don't whine to me about such trivial problems."

Toki let out a pained groan and tried to get up, but his father roughly pushed him back down again. "You will go nowhere until I am satisfied! Say your prayers again—Hail Mary _and _Our Father!"

Toki glared up at him and said shyly, "I will not."

His father's eyes filled with rage; he took a handful of his son's hair and asked venomously, _"What _did you just say to me?" The boy swallowed and his eyes flickered down to the floor. "Look at me when you talk, Toki."

"Sorry, sir. I'll pray if you want me to." and he slowly got down back on his knees and felt that same searing, ripping pain return to him. All at once he forgot his prayers and could only kneel there at his father's feet, weeping and trembling. His father just smirked.

"You are crying? That is weak, Toki. That is a sign of cowardice. Are you weak?"

"N-No sir."

"Yes you are,_ and_ you are a liar."

"I'm not a liar!" he looked up, met his father's amused gaze. "And I'm not weak! I'm no coward!"

"Again you lie." he responded harshly, turning his back to his son. "I will not have any child of mine be as weak as you; are you weak?"

Toki sighed, realizing that he'd never win. He gently wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded. "Yes, I'm weak."

"Are you a liar?"

"Yes, I'm a liar, too."

"Just as I thought. You're also a coward, are you not?"

He hated himself for being so submissive to his father. "Yes." he whispered shamefully. "I'm a coward."

"Does God love cowards and liars and those who are weak?"

"No," Toki answered pitifully. "I don't suppose that he does."

His father shook his head almost gravely and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "No, he does not. God does not love or even look upon people like that. He rejects them from his holy lands. He throws them out into the world without any help or hope. He-"

"No he doesn't." Toki said. "God loves everyone, doesn't he?" his father's hand tightened, squeezed his son's shoulder painfully.

"Why should he? Do those people really deserve his love? Do _you _deserve his mercy and grace?"

"Maybe not..."

"No, you do not." his father corrected him, staring down at his son with something of pity in his eyes. "God's love is not for you, now say your prayers again."

He swallowed and sat back up on his knees, grimacing at the agony that this brought. "Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee..."

That night, everything else became useless, fake. Nothing was real, only his father's fists beating into him. Nothing else was important. Toki screamed many times, but he was ignored by everyone, even his mother. He was sure that his cries echoed outside in the cold night; his throat burned and begged for mercy, for him to quit his howling, but he couldn't. He hurt too much, there was too much blood and sickness. Never before had he felt such searing, overwhelming pain, not even when praying; it filled his every part, made him somehow whole. It was maddening. When it was over, there was such ringing silence that it added to his agony. He almost wished he had strength enough to scream again, to rid himself of this crushing silence.

Why would God let this happen to him? Maybe he really didn't deserve his love. Maybe he was a coward, a liar, and weak...

The last thing that his father said as he wiped his bloody knuckles off on his black cloak was, "Pray to God for forgiveness. Until you do, I suppose that I'll just have to beg for another son, one to mend the hurt you bring to this household."

And now, years later, the pain was still blazing inside of him and that old shame and agony was still there. Toki sat there silently, his eyes glazed over with the memory. Pickles saw this and his anger gradually melted away. "Dude, are you okay?"

"Fines." he said, shaking himself. "Just fines." and the memory was forgotten, along with every other feelings of despair and hurt. He was dead to everything now.

Yes, he had known how cruel the world could be, and he lived with this knowledge every day of his life. He guessed the only difference between he and Pickles was that he didn't have the guts to wash his hurt away with alcohol.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

****A/N****

**Obviously this story won't be all sunshine and roses or anything. It seems as though my fanfics are getting to be disturbingly dark and kind of just not funny, but oh well. I sit down at the computer and this is what I come up with—much of my childhood mixed in with Toki's. **

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. There are more to come. Reviews are welcome. Peace & Love, as always.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1, Part 1  
**_**Toki's Addiction**_

The tour bus dropped them off in the driveway of the Mordhaus. Pickles tried to sneak some alcohol, but Ofdensen was watching him now. He just ended up stalking off moodily to his room. Or at least that's what he _meant _to do, but as he made his way to his bedroom something stopped him. Toki was running all thru the Mordhaus, looking under couch cushions, pushing away Klokateers. His eyes were wide with worry, but still sort of full of something else. He looked so tired, exhausted. Why had Pickles never noticed it before? Probably because he'd been drunk.

"Hey, dude," he asked, following Toki into down the hall that lead to their rooms. "what's up? You lost somethin'?"

"Ja, somethings really important." he said, going over to his room and opening the door. Pickles stood in the doorway and watched as the guitarist ripped his bed apart and began searching in the sheets.

"What'd you lose? Maybe I could help you look for it."

"Nos thanks, I can finds it—_fuck where ams it?" _he sounded desperate. The drummer frowned deeply and began rooting thru the things on Toki's desk, searching for anything that looked important.

"S'your bear? Did you lose your deddy bear?"

"Nos."

"Your guitar?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Toki looked over to him, his tired eyes also looking a little pitiful as he said, "It ams a little bottle of pills. I needs them, I really do. They're sorts of-"

"_Pills?" _Pickles threw down whatever was in his hand and glared at the guitarist. "You've been an my ass for drinkin' so much and now you're tearing up the whole fucking hoes for some Gad damn _pills? _What're they for? Who gave them to you?"

"None of your business!" he snapped, sitting down in the middle of his room and yawning. "Just gets out. I knew I shouldn't have tolds you; you don't understands."

"I understand perfectly." he said harshly. "You get high offa pills and then come at me for drinkin'. I get it just fi-"

"They am not _those _kinds of pills!" Toki cried, running a shaky hand thru his hair. "They ams sick-person pills."

Pickles' hostility melted away. "Oh, so you're sick?"

The Norwegian smiled weakly. "You coulds say that."

"Well have you told Ofdensen about it? Maybe he could get you a doctor's appointment or something."

"I already haves one tomorrow. There ams not anything anyone can do anyway, just-" he sighed and shook his head. "Just gets out, please."

"But I wanna help."

"Please gets out!" Pickles bit his lip and peered around Toki's room, searching for a bottle. He spotted one laying on the nightstand next to the guitarist's bed. As he walked over there, Toki watched him with expectant eyes. "Well? Ams you going to get out, or—you founds them?"

"Yeah, they were right here in the open." he tried to read the label on the bottle, but before he could Toki had snatched it, gotten it open, and was putting one of the pills in his mouth.

"Thanks." he said once it was done. "I really needed those pills."

"Yeah, no prablem."

"Okays." and he crawled into his bed and muttered tiredly, "Nows I wills sleep, okay? Can you do something else for me?"

"But you slept the whole way home!"

"Can you do somethings for me?" he repeated. Pickles gave in and nodded.

"Course, whadda want?"

"Tells the others nots to wakes me up, please. I needs to sleep, doctor said so."

The drummer arched a pierced brow. "Wait a second, you've _been _to the doctor already? How lang have you been so sick?"

"Nots important, just gos."

"Yeah, whatever." he said, exiting the room quietly. Deep inside his stomach he felt..._not right. _Was Toki snapping like everybody else? Was he going to lose himself like Ofdensen, or act concerned like Murderface? Was he going to get better?

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 1, Part 2  
**_**The List**_

There was something that nobody knew about Toki; he made lists. It was an odd obsession that he'd developed as a child, one that he had never quite outgrown. He'd write lists of mostly just twelve things, just meaningless, thoughtless words that were running thru his mind. There were some things—people, places, memories—that he never could stop thinking about, so he'd pick up a pen, get his notebook, and write down a few words. Some of the lists were in English, but most of the long, three-page ones were scrawled in a graceful and hand, in Norwegian.

Now, as he heard Pickles' footsteps echoing down the hall, he rose out of his bed, dug his notebook out of his suitcase—he brought it with him everywhere, even to shows, because often it was the only thing that could bring peace to his mind—and began to write. His mind jumped everywhere, but usually towards the end of the list it would all come back and relate to the same general idea as the beginning word.

_1] God_

_2] Prayer_

_3] Sickness_

_4] Death_

_5] …_

He stopped. What really came after death? Not knowing what else to put, he wrote:

_5] Life_

_6] Pain_

_7] Father_

_8] Prayer_

_9] Hate_

_10] Love_

What was love? Had he ever known it once?

_11] Doubt_

What did he hate most in the world?

_12] God_

When he was done he put the pen in his mouth, chewed on it, and stared at the list for ten full minutes until a knock came at his door. "Ja?" he called, rubbing his eyes. They burned with the effort of staying awake, but he wouldn't be able to get to sleep. His mind was still too full of words.

It was a Klokateer, nobody that he really cared to hear from. "Master Ofdensen has called a meeting in the conference room, Lord Wartooth."

"Tells him that I'm coming."

"Yes, my Lord."

Toki sneered at that word. _Lord. _He hated that word and remembered, _Hail Mary, full of grace.  
Our_ Lord _is with thee..._the Lord was nothing. God was nowhere to be found when he was needed most. Toki could've certainly used this God's love and mercy the day he'd found out about his sickness. He glanced back at the paper, turned the page, and began a new list.

_1] Sick_

_2] Rotting_

He was rotting away from the inside out, totally powerless against that sickness. It ate at him, threatened to consume him every day. He wasn't stupid, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before everyone knew about it. They'd alienate him, feel so sorry that he was dying and nothing could be done about it. Until then he'd just have to act normal, put that same old, carefree smile on his face, and bear the pain, the exhaustion, and the eroding of his body and mind.

Just before he got up and went out the door, he glanced back over at his notebook and smiled sadly. He'd miss making lists after he died; who would find them all, scrawled in that old, torn notebook? He hoped that it would be Pickles, so maybe then he'd finally see just how sick you could get, how quickly your life could come to an end. Maybe Toki would be able to help him after all, even if it did mean his death.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 1, Part 3  
**_**Unplanned Surprises**_

Ofdensen was nervously tapping his pen on the table as Toki entered the conference room. He gave the Norwegian a stern look and said, glancing over at the watch that he always wore on his wrist, "You're five minutes late, Toki."

"Sorrys," he apologized as he took his seat across from Pickles. "I was sleepings. I thought Pickle tolds you that."

"I did, but he wanted to have the meeting anyways." the drummer mumbled, clearly irritated that he had to be sitting there with the others, talking about business. Why couldn't they just let him get drunk already?

"That's because it's important." Ofdensen said curtly, laying his pen down on the table. "It's about the production of your next album. The record company thinks you should start recording immediately. Nathan," he asked, glancing over at the brooding singer. "have you started writing any songs like I asked you?"

"Yeah, they're there."

"But have you started _writing _them?"

He shrugged and said, "No—I mean yeah, sure. They're...no."

"But if we could get you into the studio, you'd be able to sing the lyrics, right?"

"To songs I didn't even write?" Nathan rolled his eyes. "That doesn't make much sense."

Ofdenesn tried not seem too annoyed as he said, "No, I mean can you recall them from memory? You can quickly write them down and record them, right?"

"Sure." he shrugged again and said in his deep voice, "We're really going to record today?"

He nodded and began dryly, "They insisted that we send them a demo tape as soon as we could, so I think it would be best to-"

"I can't dos it today." Toki cut in, laying his head on the cool table. He blinked and said groggily, "I'ms too tired."

Ofdensen gave him a skeptical look. "You slept the whole way home, though."

"But I'm stills tired. How ams that a crime? God, you lets Skwisgaar sleep and screw sluts alls day, but I can'ts takes _one damn nap?"_

"Toki, calm down. All I meant was-"

"It ammnest not my faults that the ladies all wants to fucks me!" Skwisgaar argued, giving Toki a harsh look. "It ams not my fault if you're too busy sleepings all day and not eatings—don't blame me if you don'ts gots the energy to screws any girls."

He rolled his eyes. "It ams not about fucking, Skwisgaar."

"Boys, please-"

"I bet you're bulimia!" Murderface exclaimed, pointing at Toki, who just laughed.

"Whats?"

"You never eat anymore, we all shee it! I bet you go and puke your gutsh out, right Nathan?"

The signer hadn't really been listening; he just jumped at the sound of his name and said cluelessly, "Huh? Oh yeah, sure."

"Leave him alone, dildos." Pickles said, crossing his arms over his chest. "The kid's obviously tired, so why don't we just give him a break?"

"Sorry, but we don't have time for any breaks." Ofdensen commented, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "We have to start recording today, so get a move on and go meet in the recording studio." he got up out of his seat, pushed in his chair, and left the room. Toki let out a tired groan and got up as well. He reluctantly followed the others to the recording studio.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 1, Part 4  
**_**Breaking Point**_

"Toki, take 322! Do it right this time!" Nathan sneered into the talk-back mic. Behind him Pickles, Skwisgaar, and Murderface watched with lucid expressions, all glaring at Toki thru the glass of the studio.

The Norwegian sighed. "Can'ts I just take one break?" couldn't everyone tell just how close he was to passing out? He was exhausted, totally spent. Couldn't they sense his growing weakness? _No, _he thought to himself every time he thought of giving into his urge to pass out. _I'm not weak and I won't let them see how sick I am...I've got to stay awake! Please, God, just let me stay awake..._

"Tokis!" Skwisgaar snapped, pushing Nathan away from the mic. "Gets your shit together and lets gos! Get serious and records your damn part!"

"I am, just shuts up for a second!" he was getting a headache. It was splitting his entire brain in half, making his eyes water. "Shits...hold on..." he repositioned his fingers on his guitar, gave Nathan a thumbs-up, and with much difficulty began recording his part. Finally it worked for him; his fingers worked like he wanted them to and the strings were kind and merciful, emitting a heavy, intense sound. Then he was done he dropped his guitar and went to join the others.

"Whos next?" Nathan asked. Murderface rose to his feet.

"I'll go. I don't mi-"

"Gods, Tokis, you don't look so goods." Skwisgaar observed. The Norwegian ignored him and took a seat.

"I'ms fine, I just gots a headache."

"Buts-"

"I'm fine!" this time he yelled it.

He was losing it, losing himself. Sometimes it was the medicine that made him get this way, but usually it was just himself and his disgust with everyone else. How could they be so healthy and alive and he be so sick? What made them deserve life more than him? He didn't know, and that's what made him so hopelessly, sadly confused and angry. He would think about it often, and just get furious. Sometimes he'd find himself alone in his room whispering in Norwegian, talking it all out to himself: he'd die, get replaced, and nobody would come to his funeral. He didn't deserve life, because God didn't love him. He hadn't earned God's love, so maybe that's why he was dying. That's what he thought of now as he surveyed the faces of everyone in the room.

Nathan, as usual, was oblivious to everything outside of his own world; Skwisgaar was staring at him with something of half concern, half anger in his eyes; Murderface seemed indifferent to the situation; Pickles was casting a heavy look of worry on the guitarist. His green eyes shined with a kind of sympathy and pain that Toki had never seen before unless he was looking in the mirror at his own reflection. What did it mean?

"Are you okay, dude?"

"I...please, I needs to be alone."

"But ammnest you sick?" Skwisgaar asked. He wouldn't quit, not without an answer. Toki gave him a kind smile, tried to make up for the yelling he'd done.

"Ja, but I already mades an appointment. I'ms fine." and he tried to sound light and full of humor, but failed at it miserably. In the end he just sounded like he was trying to convince _himself _of this more than any of them. Not knowing what else to do, he got up and exited the studio, repeating, "I just needs to be alone."

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 1, Part 5  
**_**Concern Turns To Fear**_

_1] Father_

_2] Father_

_3] Father_

_4] Love?_

_5] Sir_

_6] __Father_

That was as far his he got into his next list before Pickles was knocking on his door, demanding entrance. "Please, dude, just talk to me! I need to know somethin', just please let me come in!"

Toki instinctively shut his notebook, hid it under his pillow, and called, "Pickle, ams it you?"

"Duh."

"Comes in."

The drummer came in and shut the door quietly, a look of almost sick worry and distress on his face as he went over and sat next to Toki on the bed. "Are you okay? No, of course you're nat, that's what worries the fuck outta me."

"You ams worried?" he asked disbelievingly. Pickles nodded.

"Fuck yes, 'cause you're the only person who ever—today, after I left your room, I realized somethin'. You're the only damn person who's ever bothered to come and try to help me when I was drunk. D'you know 'dat? The _only _one, and then I yelled at you and...I'm just really sorry."

"It's fines."

"Why're you so tired all the time? You're sick?"

Toki nodded gravely. "Ja, verys sick."

"With what? Maybe we can make you better."

A bitter smile came across his face. "Nos, I don't thinks you can. I'm goings to die." Pickles' mouth fell open and he sat there, his arms limp at his sides and his green eyes wide with astonishment. He said nothing. Toki reached over and pulled him into a hug, whispered brokenly, "Pickle, I gots cancer."

"Wh...what?"

"I'm goings to die. I've been takings the medicine they gives me and stuff, but it ams not helping. I can _feels _it killing me—I can feels myself dying all day longs, just parts of me goings away." he hugged the drummer closer and added, "I've never felt so empty."

"You...I don't get it. How long has it—have you known?" he felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He wanted to cry, to scream, to break everything within reach. Part of him even wanted to hurt Toki for keeping this information from him. His brother, his guardian, his protector, and his best friend was _dying? _In what way was the fair? Why the hell would God do this to him, to the guitarist? How the fuck was this justified?

"Abouts two months."

"Is 'dat why you haven't been eatin' or sleeping that much?"

"Ja."

"It's...It's takin' a toll, dude." he said desparingly, biting back a sob. He wrapped his arms around Toki, buried his head in his shoulder, and ran a comforting hand thru his hair. This was above him; it was above both of them now. Brutality was out the door, along with _Dethklok. _It all didn't mean anything anymore. It was almost like a laughable joke, something so unimportant and irrelevant.

Toki just sat there hugging him for so long. The silence between them became painful, so he said quietly, "You can'ts tell anyone abouts it, they can't know, especially nots Skwisgaar. I don't know how he would takes it."

"Dude, I can't just let you waste away like you've been doin'. I've gotta do something, gotta help you..."

"You can'ts, it ams my problem."

"No," Pickles said, shaking his head. He placed a protective hand on Toki's head and whispered, "I ain't gonna let you just quit. That's what you're doing, y'know. You're just gonna sleep up here until you're too sick to get up, then you're just gonna die. I can't let you. Toki, please don't die, get better. Please." he was nearly sobbing now.

The Norwegian ended the hug and pulled away slowly. God, he looked bad. He even looked a little thinner. This was the damage that had been worked in a mere two months? It hit him just how fragile Toki seemed, how breakable. He wanted to hold him forever, protect him from the rest of the world that had hurt him so.

"You gots to understand something. My dads had cancer and he _died. _How ams I going to live when not even he coulds? I'm weak, he wasn't." he gave the drummer a reassuring little smile and promised, "I'll gets better, though, you'll see. I'll be fines."

"You're gonna go see the doctor tomorrow, ask him about your pills?" he asked, wiping his green eyes on his shirt. Toki nodded. "Then can I come with you?"

He thought for a moment the shook his head. "Nos, I don't think that would be a goods idea."

His face fell. "But I wanna help!"

"I thinks it would better if you stayed here, to covers for me." he ran a hand thru his long brown hair and said, "Please. I really needs somebody right now to helps me. Let everyone know that I'm fines, okay?"

He lowered his head and nodded. "Yeah, fine." _But you're not fine, you're dying, _he thought.

"Thanks, Pickle." the guitarist looked down at his bed and sighed. "I think I'll takes a nap now."

Pickles got up and gave him an uneasy grin. "Right, okay."

Toki reached for his arm, tried to bring him some sort of comfort. Bravely he said, "I'm goings to be okay, I swears."

"Okay, just don't...just make sure to wake up, alright?"

"What ams you mean?"

He felt like crying again as he whispered, "D-Don't _die _or anything, okay?"

Toki's smile faded. Pickles seemed so small and sort of childish right now. He stared into Toki's pale and dull eyes with a kind of sorrow that the guitarist had never had directed at him before. People didn't care about him, he was weak. What made Pickles look at him like that? Toki didn't know, but he gave the drummer a nod anyway. "Alright, sures."

"You swear?"

"Ja, I swears."

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

****A/N****

**The whole idea for this story came from a part of a fanfic I wrote called, _Turn Back The Klok. _For some unholy reason I gave Toki cancer. I always sort of wanted to include that in a story. I never really thought I should go that deep, but this awesome reader reviewed it and said it would be a good idea, so here it is. Thanks for all your amazing support, Panic. **

**I know I could've stretched the whole 'mystery sickness' thing that Toki had out, but let's face it, I figured that by the end of this chapter, you'd be able to have a pretty good idea of what it was. Besides that, I don't want to stretch things too thin. I hate it when authors do that. -_-**

**[^_^] Oh yeah, and reviews are, as always, welcomed and appreciated. **

**Peace & Love**


	3. Chapter 3

"_You say your life I'm taking, always bothering me, I can't take this anymore, I'm failing, always smothering me, you look down on me...  
Nothing seems exciting, always the same hiding...  
It's haunting me. It's haunting me. It's haunting me. It's haunting me.  
It's haunting me..."_

_-Marilyn Manson, Queen Of The Damned [Redeemer]_

**Chapter 3, Part 1  
**_**Too Honest**_

Fuck it, fuck everyone and everything. He'd found it, been able to get his hands on it. It was so sweet with its wonderful sting, it slipped down his throat so warmly and made him feel light as air. He drank and drank until he couldn't even get out of bed. This was it, just like before. "Fuck it, gonna drink myself to sleep...to _death." _he mumbled to himself, pressing the bottle to his lips.

Ofdensen would be mad, rip into him like never before; Skwisgaar might even dare to give him a lick or two; Nathan would probably threaten to kick him out of the band, like always; Murderface? That was a fucking joke; Toki..._Toki. _His Toki. His protector, his brother, his...

He was dying. Pickles let the tears slip down his face as he drank again. His Toki was dying, rotting, away from him, fading. The drummer hated him for it, hated everything. If he could, he would give the fearful Norwegian half of his life to live off of, maybe all of it. He wasn't using it anyway, just wasting it away on booze and drugs. Pickles grinned. Ah, the drugs. He leaned over to his nightstand, inhaled one of the thin, white lines he'd cut. Cocaine was good, it was his favorite. It took away any pain or regret he had, and lately he'd seemed to have a lot of that hanging over him.

_So damn good, so fucking nice just to be high again..._

He moaned and fell back into his mattress, let his eyes fall closed as he drank some more. _"T'death, _fuck it, I'm gonna drink myself further'n 'dat." He heard something then, a harsh, sharp knocking at his door, a desperate voice begging to be let in. "What's wrang?" he sounded disgusting, he knew it; so weak, so obviously overtaken and fucked over—once again—by the alcohol. Of course he was slightly ashamed, but what could he do?

Toki came in. Of course. The Norwegian took one look at the drummer and a sad, disappointed look came over his face. He looked so let down that Pickles had no choice but to inhale another line of cocaine and open himself up a fresh bottle of booze. "Hey, dude, I gatta some'n t'tell ya..."

"Shuts up, Pickle." he muttered, seizing the alcohol from the drummer and walking away. Pickles arched a brow.

"Whatchu doin' 'dat for?"

"Shuts up, I said! I hates how you sound when you ams drunk..." he went and poured the booze down the drain of the sink before returning to Pickles, dusting the other shakily cut lines of cocaine off the nightstand. He took a seat next to him and looked down. "I guess even though I needs the help, I'll just spends all night making sure you don't chokes on your own puke, likes always."

"Huh? No way, dude, I gatta take cara _you. _Look, I can do it. Come see." he fell into Toki's lap and closed his eyes. " 'Cause f'anything happened to you, I might as well just kill myself."

"What?"

"You take cara me so fuckin' good. I love you for 'dat, y'know." the only time that Pickles was ever really honest or open with anyone was when he was drunk, and tonight he certainly was _very _drunk. Toki just stared at him, a little smile on his face.

"Someones has to takes care of you, Pickle. Who would just sits back and watch you kills yourself?"

"Watch me..." he chuckled drunkenly and looked up into the guitarist's blue eyes. He was still tired, but somehow he seemed more alive than he had been earlier today. "That's what my parents did, y'know. They watched me kill myself twice..."

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 3, Part 2  
**_**One Escape**_

"So you think you're a big man, huh?" Pickles said nothing, just sat there in his seat, smiling down at the floor smugly. His father, mother, and brother sat across from him, all looking infuriated. His father asked again, "You think you're a man, huh?"

He shrugged passively, trying to look as cool and collected as possible. "Sure, I guess." He was fifteen, a sophomore in high school. To his parents he was a burden, not good at school or much of anything. He was usually too stoned or drunk to get involved in sports, and his grades were so bad that he couldn't manage to have any hope of getting a scholarship; the only thing that interested him was his music. Maybe that's where he'd gone wrong...

His father scoffed. "You are _nothing, _Pickles. Here-" he held out his hand, beckoned for his son to get up and come to him. "-let me see those wrists."

"No." he hissed, narrowing his eyes at him.

Seth perked up at his resistance and insisted, "Yeah, c'mon, I wanna see those stupid, cut-up wrists!"

"Fuck aff!" he howled, instinctively covering his bandaged wrists.

"Do you know how this—this suicide thing—will affect how I'm looked at by my superiors at work?" his father snapped. Pickles rolled his eyes.

"I don't care! Fuck you and fuck the guys at your job! You said it yourself, that you hate them all anyway!" there weren't many people that his father liked.

"Damn you!" his father said, rising from his chair. "What do you think you're going to do when the doctors say you can go back to school? What will you say when people look at those cuts on your arms and ask you what happened?"

"I don't give a fuck, I did what I had to!" Pickles wanted to kill that old man. What did his father know about him? What did _anyone _know about him? It had just been a simple thing, a simple attempt to end his life.

The suicide incident he remembered very well. Adults were fucking stupid—his teachers noticed him never doing his assignments and always getting into fights, but they never cared to confront him about it. That's what made Pickles try to do it. Nobody _ever _cared. Just once he'd wanted to make them care, to make them stop and realize just how blind they were to everything outside of their own world...they didn't want to see how fucked up he was, maybe that was it, but it all amounted to nothing. Nobody cared.

He'd gone in the bathroom during Geometry I, just walked right out. The teacher hadn't noticed or bothered to stop him. He'd planned it out. He wanted them to find him dead in the bathroom, the floors soaked in his blood. Maybe then all those stupid idiots who tormented him and the teachers who had failed him would finally _care. _So Pickles went into the bathroom, got out his razor and cut. He cut deeply, watched the blood flow and trickle down his arm onto the floor.

It bled so much, but he didn't care. He cut again and again, watched that crimson, bright red life drip out of him and gently snake its way down his pale arm. He smiled. It looked good, sweet. He pressed his face to his arm, let the scarlet liquid stain his face. That was when he heard the bathroom door open; somebody else was interrupting him. He looked up, let the blood trail down his cheek. He hadn't bothered to lock the stall door, he hadn't thought that someone might walk in on him. He realized what an idiot he was just as the door to his stall opened...

Still, his father didn't care. Fuck him, what did Pickles owe him? Still, he didn't know why, but he sat there as the man got in his face, less than an inch away, and yelled at the tops of his lungs. "You want some God damned attention, son? What do you want me to do, stop my whole life just to give you a second's fucking notice?"

"No!"

"Then what do you want?"

"For you to give a little more than a fuck about me!" Pickles cried, feeling tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Behind his father, Seth began laughing.

"Ma, look!" he whispered to his mother. "Pickles is _crying! _That little shit's really cry-"

"I'll fucking kill you!" Pickles howled, jumping to his feet. His father stopped him, held him back.

"What did you just say?" his breath smelled like the expensive alcohol he always drank after work. His son adopted a sneer and sat back down in his seat, trying to calm himself down. He'd fought with his father many times, but the result was always the same. The man was twice his height—Pickles was an oddly short kid for his age—and weighed much more than the scrawny teenager did. Pickles knew damn well he'd lose, he wasn't a fool.

"I said I'd kill him." the teenager whispered hatefully. "I will, I'll rip his Gad damn throat out..." His father's fist collided with the side of his face; he let out a howl of pain and pressed a hand to his cheek, his eyes watering. "Dad, what the fu-"

"At least your brother has _drive. _At least he is going somewhere with his life! What are you doing? Not a damn thing! You're driving me and your mother straight to hell!"

"Just because you don't know how to raise your kids..." he knew he'd earn himself another hit for this, but it didn't matter. It felt good to say, so it slipped past his lips anyway. His father didn't hit him, though. Instead he shook his head, turned, and walked out the room. Everyone was eerily silent.

His mother finally sighed and said sharply, "Pickles, maybe you should-"

"Ma, what's dad doing?" Seth asked. Upstairs a loud banging could be heard. Pickles jumped to his feet.

"That bastard's in _my room!" _he made a move to walk towards the door, but his mother caught his arm.

"Don't you dare!" she seemed almost desperate. Pickles had to hesitate, and in that moment his father came back into the room and ripped his son out of his mother's grip. He pushed Pickles to the front door of the house.

"You want to be a smart ass? Here, get out." he urged his son out the door. Pickles had no choice but to go and walk out into the lawn. His clothes were scattered everywhere, along with his drum sticks. His eyes grew wide and his breath caught in his throat.

"What the _fuck _did you do?"

"You want to be so good, so much better than us? Go ahead, run away. Kill yourself on your own damn time, not mine." His father glared at his son. "I dare you." Pickles did nothing, just stood there frozen like an idiot. His father laughed and grabbed his arm roughly. "Either you go or you get your sorry ass back in that house and get what's coming to you, you little smart-assed prick."

All he could think to say was, "Y-You're drunk, dad."

"Then maybe I'll go easy on you tonight. Go in the house!"

He knew he didn't have a choice. He wanted so badly to run away, but on his terms, not those of his father. When he did finally leave home he wanted it to be a slap in his mother and father's face, but if he left now then he'd never get that. That's the only reason he turned and stalked back into the house. Yes, his dad would hit him some more tonight, but soon it would be over. Soon it would _all _be over.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 3, Part 3  
**_**The Morning After**_

Toki stared at Pickles and took his hand. "I'ms sorr-"

"S'fine, I guess. Nobody cares about me, and I'm just fine with it now."

"Buts _I _care."

He grinned. "I know, a bit too much, dude." he sat up and gave the guitarist another quick study. He looked very dismal as he sat there on the bed, so helpless. Without quite knowing what he was doing, Pickles leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Y'gonna not never leave, love?"

He laughed, pushed him a way a little. "What? You ams really, really drunk, huh?"

"Fuck yeah I am, but I mean it. I _love _you, dude, I do..." and he really did. He didn't know why, but there was just _something _amazing about Toki that Pickles admired. He was a beautiful, smart person, even if not everyone realized it. The drummer wanted him to be _his, _his own.

"If you don't gives up on me, I won't gives up on you." Toki said, letting the drummer kiss him again.

"Y'gonna get drunk with me tonight?"

"I can'ts, Pickle. I gots to go to the doctor tomorrow."

"S'what?"

His face fell as he said, "I'm sick, remember?"

"Ah, I don't care. Look." Pickles rose unsteadily to his feet and went over to get himself another bottle of booze. He opened it, took a sip, and passed it to Toki. "This stuff fixes _everything."_

Toki hesitated before taking the bottle. "I don'ts know..."

"Do it, just a sip!"

He sighed and gave in. He hadn't had a drink in a few months, it was bad for him now, might even kill him. What did it matter? He would die soon anyway, so he pressed his lips to the bottle and drank down half of it. Pickles just watched him and smiled, the tip of his nose a cheery red. Toki loved that about the drummer—whenever he really drank, his nose always sort of blushed. For him, his cheeks just turned a bright pink. Obviously Pickles loved this, because in a moment he was holding the Norwegian close, hugging him, and caressing his cheek.

"You mean the damn world t'me, dude."

"Okays."

"I wanna fuck you."

Not knowing what else to say, he repeated timidly, "Okays."

"I wanna show you how much I Gad damn like you; I wanna fuck you so bad."

"Sures, ja."

"You wanna get married? Right now, just run aff and screw everybody over and just get married?"

He laughed and nodded. The alcohol was making him feel giddy now, so he would agree to pretty much anything Pickles said. "Ja, okays. Let's go."

"Y'love me?"

"Of course I dos."

He grinned and slurred, "I've always wanted to fuck you, since the day I saw you."

"Uh-huh."

"You wanna suck my dick?" he leaned in to kiss Toki again, but the Norwegian looked away and drank some more, despite his better judgment.

"You ams so stupid when you ams drunk, Pickle. You will fucks anything, won't you?"

He chuckled drunkenly and nodded, his eyes head swimming. "Y-Yeah, I will...here." he motioned over to the bag of white cocaine on the nightstand and whispered, "You should sniff some, feels good. Burns goin' in, but feels so damn _nice."_

"J-Ja, okays. Shows me how to dos it."

And so Pickles dumped out the whole bag of cocaine and cut its contents into shaky, white lines. They stayed up all night.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 3, Part 4  
**_**The Missed Call**_

Pickles awoke the next morning with Toki laying in a sleeping bundle on top of him. He groaned in exhaustion and raised his head; he had a hell of a hangover, but seeing the Norwegian laying there with an empty bottle of alcohol in his hand made him forget this. His heart dropped into his stomach as he saw Toki's white-powdered nose. Cocaine and _booze? _Who the hell had let that happen? Dimly he remembered the events from the night before and-

_I wanna fuck you..._

"Oh shit..." his face turned red with shame as he shook Toki awake. "Dude, wake up. You gatta go to the doctor today, right?"

He moaned and covered his eyes with his hand, a sure sign that he was having a splitting headache. "Gods, Pickle...I can'ts go today, not now..."

"You've _gat _to! Here, get up! I'll go down to the kitchen and get you some breakfast and-"

"I'm nots going, I can't. I haves a hangover, they'll just sends me home anyway."

"Then what the hell are we gonna do?"

Toki sat up and smiled down at him. "Wants to get some breakfast?"

Pickles' heart filled with a sort of undeserved relief. "You're actually hungry?"

"Sure, I could gos for some food. Comes on, please?"

He nodded. "Okay, sure."

And so they went into the dining room together, ignoring the sideways glances that Skwisgaar gave them. Everyone ate in silence before Murderface dared to say anything. "Sho you're actually eating now?"

"Sures." Toki said with a simple, passive shrug. Pickles just narrowed his eyes at the bassist.

"Watch yourself, dude. He don't need 'dat shit."

"Where haves you been all yesterday?" the Skwisgaar asked.

"Sleepings, like I said."

"Oh. Ammnest you feelings better?"

He just stared down at his plate and ate some eggs. "Sures, I guess." it was clear that he really wasn't that hungry, that he was making himself eat. He ate all of his food hesitantly, as if thinking whether or not he really needed to. Everyone was staring at him now, watching him carefully to see if he really was feeling better. Pickles tried not to pay too much attention to him, though; he just drank his cup of coffee silently, trying to rid himself his pounding headache. Why had he drank so much last night?

Finally Toki spoke, sounding much better than he had yesterday. "So what ams we going to do today?"

"Record." Nathan said gloomily. "Ofdensen's making us...that is, if you think you can handle it."

"Sures I can, I'm good." he had a strength in his voice that he hadn't had in it the day before. He seemed almost renewed, better in fact. There was no way that anyone would be able to tell that he was sick. Pickles let his head rest on his palm as Ofdensen entered the room. True to his usual fashion, he looked serious and business-like, but also a little worried. He approached them all, but payed special attention to Toki.

"May I talk with you for a moment?"

"Why? I ams eating br-"

"It's very important, about your cell phone."

He didn't look worried in the least as he said, "What abouts my cell phone? I thoughts I lost it back at the concert, because whenever I gots home it was gones. Sos what? Can't we buys me a new one?"

Ofdensen shook his head. "It's not about where it was—you left it on the bus. It's about the call I got this morning. It was from a doctor I believe, and he said-"

"Rights, we talks in private." he said, quickly getting to his feet and trailing after Ofdensen out of the room. Before exiting the dining room, he turned and gave Pickles a desperate, helpless glance. Without seeing any way out of it, the drummer laid down his fork and sighed. He rose to his feet and went to follow them to Ofdensen's office.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 3, Part 5  
**_**More Lies**_

"You may sit," Ofdensen said politely, motioning to the comfy chair that was across from his desk. Toki, who was nervously twisting his long hair in his hands, nodded and quickly took a seat. Ofdensen just stared at him for a long while, his brown eyes searching the Norwegian's emotionless face for answers, until at last he said, "A doctor called your phone, you know. I believe he wanted to verify an appointment."

"Ja, I knows."

"Then you also know what he told me?"

Toki swallowed and whispered, "I thinks I can probably guess."

"Hmm. It's kind of sad, you know." he said, pouring himself a glass of brandy. The guitarist watched him, his pale eyes wide with expectant fear at what the man's next words would be. Ofdensen downed the brandy before continuing. "Is what he said true? That you have-"

"Hey, dudes...I—what's up?" Pickles blurted, throwing open the door. He was panting; he'd had to sprint to get to the office in time, but it looked like he'd made it. Toki just stared at him in disbelief. The drummer had actually come? Nobody ever did that kind of thing for him...

Ofdsensen just frowned at the drummer and waved away his greeting. "Yes, yes, we can have a private meeting later if you want, Pickles, but right now I'm talking to Tok-"

"Well about 'dat, it's a lie."

He arched a brow. "A lie? What's a lie?"

"Ja, what ams a lie?" Toki hissed.

"Well...I..."

"The phone call ams a lie, or what?"

Pickles nodded, silently thanking him for the help. "Yeah, the call...what was it about again?"

"I don't think it's any of your business." Ofdenesn said seriously. "And I'd appreciate it if you would-"

"Yeah, it was a lie, the call." the drummer insisted, grabbing Toki by the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him to his feet. "I noticed 'dat he wasn't eating-" he motioned to the guitarist, "-and so I...uh..."

"Mades a doctor call me?" the Norwegian asked, continuing the horribly bad lie. Pickles nodded quickly and didn't hesitate to urge Toki over to the door.

"Yeah, right. I did 'dat."

Ofdensen sighed. "That doesn't make any-"

"He wasn't eatin' because he wanted to be as skinny ask Skwisgaar, so I gat worried about him and called a doctor!" Pickles cut him off. "See, that's what happened, that's it, so you don't need to worry! He don't gat no doctor's appointment or-"

"He doesn't have cancer?"

The drummer's face paled at the mention of the word, but he still managed to keep his cool and shake his head. "Nah, he's perfectly healthy. Don't he look it?"

Toki tried his best to appear his usual happy self and didn't miss a beat. Ofdensen was just left to nod and say, quite annoyed at the way this was going, "Yes, I suppose he looks fine. So, just to be clear, there isn't anything to worry about?"

Both of them shook their heads. "Nope, nat a thing."

"Nothings at all."

"Okay then. I guess you two can g-"

But they were both out the door already. Pickles walked down the hall quickly, trying to pull himself together. " 'Dat was the _worst _damn lie I ever told in my life! I know he didn't buy it, I could see it in his face...he still thinks that something's up, that we're hidin' something..."

Toki really wasn't that shaken. He just took the drummer's hand and gave him a sweet, reassuring smile. "It don't matters much anyway, Pickle. Thanks for savings my ass."

"S'fine."

"Even though you ams the reason I had to reschedule my appointment anyways..."

"Hey, I said I was sorry!" he snapped. "You know what kinda bad I ideas I get when I'm drunk!"

"Oh, likes marrying me?" Toki asked, laughing. "Remembers that?"

"What?" he chuckled. "You wanna marry me?"

"No, last nights you saids you wanted to marry me."

"I did?" he turned red and looked down. "Oh..."

Toki's laughter faded. He asked, his voice full of disappointment, "You didn'ts means it?"

"No—I mean yeah...well damn, now I dunno...yeah, of course I would, I guess. I love you, kid."

His smile returned to him as he exclaimed, "I loves you too, Pickle!"

"So you're gonna let me come to your doctor's appointment tomorrow?" the drummer asked hopefully. Toki peered over at him and shook his head.

"Nos, I already told you thats-"

"_Please, _Toki! C'mon, give me a damn break!" Pickles cried, wrapping an arm around the Norwegian's waist and pulling him close. "Gimme a chance."

"A chance? To whats?"

"Prove to you how much I love you. Please?" he kissed the guitarist's cheek and whispered, "I don't know what it is about you, but I really, really wanna be with you. Is that fucked up?"

"Nos, nots really."

"I wanna make you love me."

"I already do."

"Then let me go with you. Don't make me wait to find out what to expect, let me figure it out myself." he rested his forehead against Toki's and gave him a little grin. "C'mon, please? We can do this together, I swear. It'll be fine. You can trust me."

"Wells..." Toki thought about it for a moment then hesitated. He leaned forward, gave Pickles a quick peck on the lips, then pulled away. "Okays, you can come, but only because I loves you so much."

"That'll work for me." he said softly.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

****A/N****

**Yes, life is very boring here, so I'll be updating a lot in the future...all I do is sleep or be bored. I'm not ready to go back to school, though. Ugh. -_-**

**Also, a reader named _sierra t _who's recently been reviewing my stories—thank you, by the way—asked me a very good question about another fic I wrote called, _Ghosts & Blueberry Pie_: "I like the way you describe thing in this one but I'm curious as to why such a depressing story line? Too much happy ones? I'm not criticizing just wondering." If you haven't noticed, my story lines are getting very, very sort of dark. Mainly this has been happening for two reasons. [1] By the end of the story, I really want you to feel as though the characters will be together forever, that they can stick it out thru anything and get thru hardships and all that crap. I find it hard to get this idea across with just sunshine-and-roses plots, because love, as one of my readers once pointed out, is not all sunshine and roses. [2] I usually like to put a little of myself in every story I write; I think that's what makes them so good and detailed and all that good, grand shit.**

**I hope I answered your question. For all my other readers, I usually answer your questions in my A/N or in reviews. Hope you're loving the story and thanks for reviewing. **

**Peace & Love **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4, Part 1  
**_**New Hurt**_

They sat in the doctor's office, feeling trapped in that little white room. Pickles let Toki have the only chair that was there; he just paced around nervously. He would stop, tap his fingers distractedly on his leg, then walk to the other side of the room and sigh. Toki watched him, a worried look on his pale face.

"Pickle, ams you-"

The door opened and the doctor came in, glancing from one man to the other. He nodded to both of them before saying to Toki, "Is this your friend?"

"No, he ams my boyfriend."

Pickles stopped his pacing and focused his green eyes on the guitarist. "What?" he'd never thought about it that deeply, never actually dared to say it out loud. Still, he was immensely proud of Toki for having the courage to say what he had not. Then again, the Norwegian really did have more courage than he'd ever thought.

The doctor just took on a look of sort of half embarrassment, half curiosity and nodded. "Uh-huh, okay. And why is your boyfriend here waiting with you?"

"He wants to knows somethings and I don't knows how to tells him."

"Oh, okay." he smiled at Pickles. "Where should I start?"

"Just tell me everything you can." he said, going over and reaching for Toki's hand. "I wanna know it all."

Once it was over and everything that was needed to be said was, the doctor gave Toki a sympathetic look and asked kindly, "Would you like a moment alone with your partner?"

He nodded. "Sures, that woulds be great."

"Very well then. The nurse will be in to proceed with your treatment in a few minutes."

"Thanks."

He exited the room. Once he had gone, Pickles let out a shaky breath; he'd tried to appear strong in the face of the doctor, but he knew deep down that the man had seen past this stupid act. Didn't he deal with this sort of thing every day? Now he just went and knelt beside Toki, laid his head in the guitarist's lap, and closed his eyes.

"Pickle, ams you-"

"You never told me it was 'dat bad—the doctor says it's really bad."

He gave him a gentle, calming smile. "It ams okay, Pickle." he said, patting the drummer's shoulder. "I ams going to be okay..."_Probably._

"I don't want you to die."

"I won'ts."

"You swear?"

"Ja, sures."

In all actuality, he really did believe that he would die whether or not he got the radiation therapy or not. The stupid medicine and therapy—all of it—would kill some of the good cells in his body, make his hair fall out, make him get even skinnier and be exhausted all the time...if he didn't try to fight the cancer, he'd die anyway, most likely slowly and painfully. Either way Toki thought about it, he was going to die, but he still couldn't let Pickles worry about this. It was his problem and would be until the day he died, so why punish the drummer?

"I'ms goings to be okay, alright? I promise." he leaned down and kissed the top of the drummer's head. "For yous, I'll live."

"You're brave, y'know. I would've just given up." he peered up at Toki. "You're really strong."

"Nos, I'm weak."

"Gad, I love you."

He blushed a little and urged him to stand up. "Gets up, idiot."

As soon as Pickles had risen to his feet, the nurse entered. She looked apprehensively from one man to the other. "Hello, Toki. Ready to go?"

"Sures, I guess." he got up, gave Pickles a little kiss, and then followed the nurse out of the door. Just before the door closed, Pickles could hear the nurse and Toki talking all the way down the hall.

"Whose he?" the nurse asked.

"He ams my boyfriend. We loves each other."

"You never told me you had a boyfriend."

"You never asked."

"It's good that he's sticking thru it with you; it's nice to have someone to support you, huh?"

A pause then, "Ja, he ams amazing."

"You really do like him, don't you, dear?"

Toki seemed to chuckle shyly and give an immediate, "I really dos."

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 4, Part 2  
**_**Going Out**_

"So it went okay?" Pickles asked as he started up the car. Toki nodded and buckled his seat belt.

"It was okays, I guess. Thanks for comings. You were right, it was a good thing to haves you there. Sometimes it's...you knows, it's kinds of hard to do it alones." he smiled bitterly and yawned. "I'm tired nows, though."

"Nat too tired, I hope, 'cause we're not goin' home."

He laughed. "Reallys? Where ams we going, then?"

"You'll see." he answered as he backed the car out of the parking lot. "It's a surprise."

They drove in silence, and allowed Toki to relax in his seat and take a nap. Once they pulled up outside the restaurant, he grabbed the Norwegian's hand and kissed it. "Dude," he whispered softly. "wake up for me."

"Huh?" his eyes flitted open for a moment.

"Wake up, babe."

Toki let out a yawn and opened his eyes. "What ams it, where are we?"

"You'll see. C'mon." he took the keys out of the ignition, got out of his seat, and went to open the guitarist's door. "You hungry?"

"A littles, I guess."

"Good, then let's go." he took the guitarist's hand, helped him out of his seat, closed the door, and lead Toki inside. They took their seats and waited.

"Why ams we here?" Toki finally asked, resting his head on his hand. Pickles peered over at him and grinned.

" 'Cause, let's face it, we're together now and you like me, don't you?" when no answer came, only a shy chuckle, he continued. "So I wanna go out with you. Is that okay?"

"Well..." he hesitated, tried to think of the right words before, "...we ams already here, aren't we?"

"Yeah, I guess we are." And the waiter came to take their orders, Pickles rolled his eyes, annoyed at the interruption. "Yeah, just get us whatever's good. We're rich, we can afford it." and the man left, a surprised look on his face. Toki laughed at the drummer's behavior.

"You ams so _rude. _You shouldn't fucks with them likes that."

The drummer shrugged. "I've been workin' as a waiter before, I know how it is and I don't really give a damn." he paused and added cleverly, "I used to be a regular jack-aff just like them, so I know what it's like."

Toki arched a brow. "You was a waiters once?"

"Yeah, my parents made me get my first job when I was, like, seven." He laughed at the astonished look on the Norwegian's face. "What, you ain't never had a job before?"

He thought for a moment then shook his head. "No, onlys working for my dad and stuffs, nothing to makes money or anything."

Pickles frowned at this. "But your parents were rich, right? Why'd they need you to-"

"Abouts that..." he grinned awkwardly and looked away. "I lied reallys bad abouts that. They weren't rich, not at alls."

He smirked. "Nat at all? But you guys weren't _poor _or anything, right?"

"Well ja, I guess we were."

Pickles sighed. "Oh, wow...sorry, dude. I didn't mean to-"

"It ams okay. I didn't mind it much, reallys. I was poor, didn'ts hangs out with a lot of kids—who wants to be friends with a poor kid?" and he glanced down and began to play with the tablecloth. "My dad didn't helps, either, but that ams another thing..."

"What?"

"Nothings."

"Nah, c'mon, I wanna hear." he insisted. "Sounds funny."

"It wasn'ts that funny, nots at all." his face paled at the thought of his father. Pickles saw this and rushed to take back his words.

"Sorry, dude, you don't gatta talk if you don't..."

But Toki really wasn't listening anymore. Life was strange in how it worked; all during his childhood he'd kept himself sane by thinking that someone somewhere must have it worse than he did. Isn't that how the human brain rationalized things? Worse vs. Worst? The funny thing was that looking back now, Toki really didn't see how his life could've been worse...or _stranger._

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 4, Part 3  
**_**Strange Days**_

Life had been very odd for Toki back when he was five years old. It mostly centered around his uncle, a dark-haired, blue-eyed, lanky alcoholic. His uncle had lived with them for a few months before he was kicked out of the house by Toki's dad. His uncle was his father's brother, a resented, hated member of the family. Toki liked him, though, despite the fact that his uncle acted quite odd around him. Normally he would always come home with a bottle of alcohol. He would drink it and tell Toki stories about his life long ago. He'd had a wife, he said, but he'd lost her and she'd take his only son. He'd tell Toki that he reminded him of his son. He'd touch his cheek lightly and smile, his breath reeking of booze.

"My son was a beautiful boy..."

"Why'd she take him away from you, then?"

He'd never answer him, just drink some more and say, "Go run along now and play outside. Get into some trouble like a _real _boy. When I was your age I was breaking windows and throwing rocks and girls. Why don't you do any of that?"

One day Toki's parents left to go to church. Just before his father walked out the door, he turned to his son and said in an undertone, "Make sure that your uncle stays sober tonight, won't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And don't forget to say your prayers."

He bowed his head in submission. "Yes, sir."

Once his parents had left, his uncle didn't hesitate to get up out of his chair and make his way into the kitchen. "Dear Toki," he called, his voice already slurred from the drinks he'd had earlier that day. "be a good, sweet child and help me find your daddy's good alcohol, please. _Kjære barn."_

"But he said-"

"You father," he said curtly. "doesn't know what he's talking about. Alcohol is _good, _Toki. It helps me think. If we find some, I'll give you a little to show you how good it is."

Toki smiled at this. His parents had never let him near the stuff, despite his growing curiosity about it. He peered up into his uncle's clear blue, honest eyes. He'd always thought of his uncle as a pretty man, one with fair skin and dark—nearly black—hair. His father said that he looked this way because he was a sinner, a no-good liar and a cheat, but Toki didn't care. He wanted to grow up to be that great, so he helped his uncle and found him the bottle.

"Can I have some like you said?"

He nodded and sat down on the counter; he grabbed Toki and lifted him up as well, gave him a place to sit in his lap. "Yes, _kjære barn,_ you may. Drink straight from the bottle, like me. Here." he pressed the lip of the bottle to the boy's lips and urged, "Drink deeply." He did, gagging at the burning alcohol trickled its way down his throat. His eyes watered, but soon he'd finished off a fourth of the bottle. His uncle laughed, drank some as well, and then put the bottle down. "What's wrong?" he teased. "You don't like it?"

Toki shook his head and tried to keep from gagging. "N-No."

"My son used to like it," he said, pressing a hand to the boy's cheek. He always began to act very odd when he talked about his son like this. "He liked it very much." gently he kissed the top of Toki's head. "Is your head spinning yet?"

"A little." he admitted. The bottle was pressed to his lips again.

"Then drink some more." He did as his uncle requested of him and only stopped when the bottle was pulled away from him. It was beginning to taste good now, warm and satisfying. His uncle flashed him one of his sly, handsome smiles. "You like it now, don't you?"

"S'okay, I guess."

"I'm glad." his hand traveled down to the boy's wrist and squeezed it. Toki felt his uncle's breath on his neck, and before he knew what was happening, he was feeling the man's lips against his throat. "You are a very good, beautiful boy, Toki. I love you very much, you know."

"I...okay, sure."

"Do I make you nervous?"

"No." he lied, shaking his head. Was this okay? Maybe it was. After all, he _did _love his uncle. Nobody had ever showed him love before, never even told him he mattered. His uncle was different, though. His uncle was kind, funny, and sweet.

"Good, because this_ is _okay. It's okay because I love you." he held the boy close, drank some more alcohol. "You love me, don't you?"

"Y-Yes."

He chuckled and kissed Toki's cheek then his lips. "Good, then come with me." he slid off the counter, never letting go of the little boy's hand.

"Where are we going, uncle?"

"To my room."

"Why?"

He grinned, a drunk look on his once pretty face. "You'll see, my sweet Toki."

In the end, Toki realized that although love was good, what he had done with his uncle was _bad. _It was so bad that whenever he was done his uncle hissed in his ear, "You're not to tell anyone about this, do you understand, boy?"

He had nodded, let himself be sent out of his uncle's room just like that. He wanted to vomit, to break everything in the house that he could, but he resisted this urge and drug himself away. He was aching, crying. He was humiliated and so damn confused. First what he had been doing was good, then it was bad, and now it was just plain shameful. He sat in his room until his parents came home. He couldn't face them, though, not after that. How could his uncle sit there and act like everything was _normal _after that? Toki glanced over at his bedroom window and wiped his tearing eyes.

Without hesitation he walked over to his window, unlatched it, and pushed out the screen. He climbed out and landed in the snow. He didn't know where he was going or what he'd do, only that he couldn't stay anymore. Inside he could hear his father yelling and his mother screaming at his uncle's drunkenness, but he didn't care. It was so distant now, so irrelevant. Toki shut his eyes, hugged himself, and began walking thru the snow, trudging and dragging his feet.

Where would he go? He didn't know, he just needed to feel clean. He felt odd, disgusting, like nothing else in the world would ever make him feel okay again. It wasn't that he felt bad, just not right. He didn't think he'd ever be his old self again, never after that. Suddenly Toki was crying again; he dropped to his knees and the snow and began to weep. He heard the door to his house open and his father's yelling and his mother's crying became more distinct.

"Go and find the boy, bring him back inside!"

"Aslaug, don't be so-"

"Do it!"

"But-"

"Agnar, so help me God..."

"Fine, you fucking...why should I have to freeze my ass off for the sake of your stupid son? How's he _my_ responsibility?" a pause, more crying from his mother, then, "I'm going, I'm going! Stupid, useless..." he went out the front door and looked around the yard, a bottle of booze still clutched tightly in his right hand. He spotted Toki sitting in the snow and sighed. _"Kjære barn."_ He grabbed Toki by the collar of his shirt and hauled him roughly to his feet. "Get up, get up!"

"No, don't make me go back in there! I-"

"It's okay." he said in a much softer tone. Gently he brushed some of Toki's hair away from his face and kissed him. "Come inside with me?" He didn't know what to say or what to do, so he just let his uncle lead him back to the house. "The next time, don't run off like this, okay?"

He nodded stiffly, felt his uncle's hand travel slowly down to the small of his back. "Don't touch me." he said, blushing. His uncle didn't stop. Instead he just laughed, drank some more, and guided Toki inside the house. "D-do you still love me?" the boy whispered, trying to mask his shame. His uncle nodded after a moment and dusted some of the snow out of his nephew's hair.

"Yes, I do. Very much." and he smiled and added, "I wanted to name my son Toki, but before I could your father had you..."

"So you hate me?"

"No, Toki. Not at all."

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 4, Part 4  
**_**Silently Lost**_

"Toki, you okay?"

"Huh?" he looked up and stopped messing with the tablecloth. "Whats?"

"You okay? You look all..." Pickles shrugged, clearly unable to describe himself. Toki still understood. He nodded and gave him a weak sort of smile.

"Ja, just tireds."

"Oh." he looked down. "I'm sorry. I never thought about 'dat. You must be exhausted, huh?"

"Ja, I...uh...I ams." he let his head rest on the palm of his hand, let his eyes drift halfway closed. "But I likes being here with you, I really dos, it's just that-"

"I shouldn't have asked about your dad, huh?"

"Nos, I'd rather you didn'ts."

"Okay, sorry." he sighed. Maybe this had been a stupid idea. Who was he kidding? He didn't deserve Toki, nobody in the world was good enough for him. Still, something inside of him sensed something wrong about the Norwegian and the way he was sitting there, looking so pale and terrified. He scooted his chair a little closer to Toki and took his hand. They sat there in silence for a while, and Pickles didn't mind it when the guitarist rested his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes.

"I'ms so sorry, but I'm just so..."

"No, s'fine. I totally get it, alright? Don't be-"

"...weak."

He shook his head and kissed the top of Toki's head. "No, you're nat weak. You're handling this a hell of a lot better than I ever would—than I _am. _You never break down, you never wanna quit. You're always just so good with it."

"Nos, I want to breaks down a lot, and the only reason I'm good with it ams because I kind of deserves it, don't you think?" he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. "Don't some people kinds of not deserves the life they haves?"

He shrugged and responded, "I guess some people don't deserve the life they have-" _like me. _"-but you do." he paused for a moment before, "Let's talk about something else, okay? I'm not takin' you out so that we can think about all that crap."

"But that crap ams my life, Pickle."

"Then let's just get away from life for a little while." he said, grinning. "Don't you ever just wanna do that?"

"I don'ts know..."

"You know somethin'? I'm fuckin' terrified of spiders."

The Norwegian looked up and laughed. "Whats ams you talking about?"

Truthfully, he really did just love to see Toki smile and laugh, so he told him a stupid story about a time that Seth had locked him in a shed in the dark with a giant spider; Pickles still didn't think it was that funny and spiders still made him want to piss his pants, but clearly the guitarist loved it. In a minute he was laughing and leaning heavily against the drummer and for once everything seemed normal. For once they could really be a couple without problems—nobody was an alcoholic, nobody had tried to kill themselves before, or been sexually abused by their uncle, or had cancer...

Everything was just perfect.

That night when they both got home, Pickles allowed Toki to stay in his room. Just before he went to bed, he looked over and saw the Norwegian hastily scribbling on a little piece of paper. He walked over to him and glanced over his shoulder, tried to read what he was writing.

"Hey, whatcha doin'?"

Toki raced to cover the paper. "Nothings!"

"C'mon, don't give me 'dat crap. At least tell me what you were-"

"Makings a list." he responded innocently. Pickles frowned.

"A list? Of what?"

Toki blushed. "It ams a secret.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 4, Part 5**

_Page [136]_

_Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles,Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, __Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles, Pickles,Pickles, Pickles, Pickles_...

_Rødt hår, grønne øyne, nydelig. En velsignelse, en forbannelse? Jeg vet ikke lenger ... han sier han elsker meg, men hvordan kan han? Kan han ikke se på meg og se hvordan fucked up jeg er? Hvorfor drikker han? Frykt, frykt for ham, for meg ... hva er poenget med å leve hvis jeg vet at han vil drikke himeslf til døde i et par år? Ville ikke de få år være nok? Hvor mye kan jeg – helst en person - eventuelt tar for gitt i dette livet? Jeg vet ikke, vet ikke noe, ingenting foruten ham og hans røde hår, grønne øyne, og hans skjønnhet._

[Red hair, green eyes, beautiful. A blessing, a curse? I don't know anymore...he says he loves me, but how can he? Can't he look at me and see how fucked up I am? Why does he drink? Fear, fear for him, for me...what's the point of living if I know that he'll drink himeslf to death in a few years? Wouldn't those few years be enough? How much can I—any one person-possibly take for granted in this life? I don't know, don't know anything, nothing besides him and his red hair, green eyes, and his beauty.]

_Page [137]_

_1] Pickles_

_2] Father_

_3] Mother_

_4] Uncle Agnar_

_5]_

_6]_

_7]_

_8]_

_9]_

_10]_

_11]_

_12]_

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

****Annoyingly Long A/N****

**Yep...I feel like I'm definatley about to be assasintated for that part about Toki's uncle, but please don't go on thinking that I actually _liked _writing about a thirty-year-old molesting his five-year-old nephew. That's why I didn't really go into that much detail about it, only enough for you to hopefully get the general idea...please don't hate me for that part.**

**Aside from that, there's two more things I'd like to discuss. If you read _Wildflower, _you'd know that I kind of suck with making up names[Danby? WTF?]—especially foreign ones. Agnar is a Norwegian boy name that I chose for no other reason than the fact that he was a brother to Toki's father, Aslaug, and I thought they kind of sounded just right together, if that makes sense. Aslaug and Agnar. Secondly, the Norwegian phrase _kjære barn _will be seen more than once in this story. It means _dear child. _So there you go, hopefully I've explained everything that need explaining. ^_^**

**I have the whole rest of the story [2 chapters, I think] typed up and pretty much ready to publish, but I'll hold them for a while, because I'm just evil like that. [hahaha] I also don't want to just throw a bunch of crap at you in a day and overwhelm you. I think this chapter was enough for today. I'll probably update tomorrow when I get home for school. Aw fuck...I hate school...And no, I'm not stupid or forgetful, I typed the whole list-the 1-12 one that wasn't complete-with a purprose in mind. It will reveal itself soon enough, so don't send me a comment about that. Okay, now I'm done rambling. Thanks for putting up with me.**

**Peace & Love**


	5. Chapter 5

"_Just a little pinprick  
__There'll be no more  
__But you may feel a little sick  
__Can you stand up?  
__I do believe it's working good..."_

_-Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb_

**Chapter 5, Part 1  
**_**Haircut**_

They'd told Toki—warned him—of many things. Because of the treatment he could expect to feel fatigued, lose his desire to eat, and his hair. He'd never really considered the last part all that serious and he'd never imagine that it would really get to that point, but the next morning when he awoke laying in Pickles' arms, he was in for a surprise. There, lying all over the drummer's pillow, were a few fine locks of his brown hair. Toki sat up, covered his eyes with his hands, and sobbed. Pickles looked up at him and frowned.

"Dude, what's-"

"P-Pickle, I..."

"What's wrong?" he asked, touching the Norwegian's shoulder. "You sick?"

"My hair!" he sobbed. "It ams falling out!"

"Huh? Whadda-" he looked at the pillow and his face paled. "Oh, Gad, Toki...didn't you know? Didn't 'dey tell you?"

He nodded, fell into Pickles' arms. "Ja, but I just...I just..."

"Ssh, I know. It's okay, it's gonna be it's, alright?" but in his heart, he really didn't know if it would be alright.

He had Toki had just gone out for the first time last night, and now this? He wasn't sure he was ready for this...looking at that hair on the pillow, suddenly everything seemed more vivid, more than just the horrible nightmare that it had been the days before. It was real, it was actual, and Toki was dying. He looked down at the Norwegian and felt himself grow sick at what he saw—he was wasting away, his shirtless torso—he never slept with a shirt—exposing ribs and what little remained of his once built figure. His face was pale, his eyes ringed with dark circles that marked exhaustion; he was disappearing. How much longer would the guitarist be able to keep this secret, especially now his hair was going as well?

"Pickle, I can't stands you looking at me likes that..." Toki said, wiping his nose. "You looks at me like I'm a ghost or somethings."

"No, it's...I..."

"Ams I a ghost to you?"

"No, of course nat; you're Toki Wartooth, _my _Toki."

He nodded, carefully put some of his hair behind his ears. "Pickle, I wants to gets it cut off—shorter. I can't watch it falls out, I can't!"

Pickles reached forward and ran a gently hand thru his hair, treasured that sensation, knowing that this might be the last time he ever could. "Okay, we can do 'dat."

"And you'll comes with me?"

"Of course."

And so they got an experienced Klokateer to come into their room, gave him a pair of scissors, and sat Toki down in front of a mirror. "You can tell him if you wanna stop." Pickles said, laying a hand on the guitarist's shoulder.

"I knows, but I have to lets him do it."

He nodded. "You're really good for doin' this, y'know; really brave."

"No I'ms not." he responded as the Klokateer snipped off the first lock of hair. Toki looked down, watched it fall to the floor, and then shut his eyes tightly. "I'ms a coward." Pickles held his hand snip after snip. The Norwegian sat there in silence, his jaw clenched, almost as if each strand of hair that he lost was physically hurting him. The drummer squeezed his hand supportively.

"You okay? You want it to stap?"

"Ja, I'ms okay." Of course he wanted it to stop. "Pickle, it just ams so _reals _now, like this is it. Ams I going to die?"

"No."

He knew exactly how Toki felt. It felt that this was the worst, most final thing that could ever happen. It was now a fact that neither of them could ignore. Now every time Toki looked in the mirror or talked with Pickles, they'd just see his short hair and know that he wasn't fully there, that he was dying. Pickles swallowed and looked away from the mirror. The guitarist looked so hopeless, as if he were silently asking himself what was the point of him even living if life were going to be like this. In the back of his mind, the drummer couldn't help but feel as if he'd given his heart away too quickly.

"Pickle?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Wills you still love me with short hair?"

"Of course."

"What if it all falls out?"

He paused and then answered in a quiet sort of sadness, "Then I'll love you more than ever."

There was nothing else to be said as the Klokateer continued cutting. What would the others think when they saw Toki like this? There would no longer be a way to hide it, not anymore. By sacrificing his hair he was also giving away the secret that he'd worked so long to protect. Toki closed his eyes, let out a quiet sigh, and felt a tear making its way down his pale face. Did Pickles see? Could he see the desperate, lost thoughts that were flashing thru the guitarist's mind? They were dark, horrible, eroding his mind and his senses, making him wish that he could kill himself—kill _everything. _He thought back to the story the drummer had told him about how he'd slit his wrists and pressed his face into the blood. Toki heard the scissors open and close with a harsh, discouraging sound.

_CUT, SNIP, CUT..._

Was there any hope left? If there was, then why was this happening, this torture? It was useless, hopeless. Toki gripped the arms of the chair with such force that his knuckles paled. The hand that Pickles had laid on his shoulder was shaking, he could feel it. Maybe the drummer could see his thoughts after all. "You still here?" he heard the sweet voice of Pickles whisper.

"Sures."

"Are you okay?"

Toki hesitated; was he okay? No, never again would he be 'okay'. "Ja, I'm stills here."

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 5, Part 2  
**_**Facing The Others**_

They all sat, gathered together in the living room. Pickles and Toki occupied a single couch couch. Across from them sat Skwisgaar, Nathan, Murderface, and Ofdensen. The manager sat with his arms crossed looking very disappointed, almost like he knew what Toki was about to confess. "It's not often that you actually call the meetings, boys." Ofdensen said. "Is there a problem that you need to discuss?"

"Yeah, there's a prablem." Pickles mumbled. He still held Toki's hand, much to the distress of everyone else in the room. They were clueless, puzzled by their behavior and the guitarist's new haircut.

"Tokis," Skwisgaar asked, "what did you dos to your hair? It ammnest shorts now."

"I cuts it."

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Nathan asked irritably. "You never asked us if you could do that."

"I didn't knows I _had _to asks for your permission to gets a haircut." he answered disdainfully, glaring at the singer.

"We have a fucking _image, _you dildo! An _image!"_

Toki rolled his eyes and said to Pickles, "I can'ts do this, nots now. Can't you tells them for me?"

He shook his head. "No, you gatta do this. Don't you think they deserve to know? Please tell them for me."

He took a deep breath and said, "Everyones, I gots something to say. I've been lyings to you for a whiles..."

"Toki, please tell me that you ammnest okays." Skwisgaar said, a deep, thoughtful frown in his face. "You've been reallys weird lately." It was almost as if he could tell what was coming.

"I bet he'sh dying." Murderface said jokingly.

"Shut up, dildo." Pickles began. "He's-"

"I _ams _dying." Toki blurted.

Everyone's eyes grew wide. Skwisgaar shook his head in disbelief; Nathan's mouth dropped open; Murderface turned a sickly pale; Ofdensen lowered his head. "You lied." the manager said. "You said you were fine."

"I'm sorrys, I just wasn't ready to tells anyone yet."

Ofdensen shook his head sorrowfully and asked Pickles, "You knew this?"

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

"I dunno, a few days."

"Then how dare you not tell me? You _lied, _Toki, you lied to us, and-"

"I'm sorrys!" he yelled, scooting closer to Pickles, silently begging for protection from the scolding he was about to get. Ofdensen didn't seem angry, though; he seemed actually sad. Despairing, in fact. His face was red with the effort of not crying. Everyone was surprised by this reaction.

"You lied! Why would you do that to m—the band?" he inquired, rising to his feet. He went to say something else, but then thought better of it then walked out of the room. Nathan sat there, a shocked look on his face.

"So you're dying?" he asked, his deep voice nothing more than a whisper of fear. Toki nodded gravely, but the drummer shook his head.

"Nah, he's getting better."

"How do we know that you ammnest not lyings to us agains?" Skwisgaar howled, covering his face with his hands. "Tokis, Tokis...how did this happens?"

"I don't knows."

"Gets better, you gots to..." he spoke incoherently, brokenly.

All the Norwegian could do was nod and say sadly, "I knows, Skwisgaar."

"No, you don't knows! I..." he lost his voice and Murderface took over.

"Sho you're really shick? Oh crap..." his voice trailed off and his face actually was red with shame. "I'm shorry, really, really shorry."

"It ams not your fault."

"I don't get it." Nathan commented. "How do you—are you...you don't look that bad, though! A little thinner and a little more tired, but other than that there's nothing wrong! Do you _feel _sick?"

Toki thought about it for a moment. Yes, he felt like shit. He was so weak that he couldn't even sit up straight, so tired that he had difficulty not falling asleep right there. "I haves felt better." was what he said. Pickles met his crystal gaze and gave him a little, sweet smile. Clearly he didn't see it after all. He didn't notice the mental anguish that was still seizing the Norwegian's mind. Maybe he had a clue, but he certainly didn't _know. _He couldn't begin to imagine, nobody could.

No one else said anything more, because there was nothing else to say. Everyone knew, that was it. Toki was still slipping away and there was nothing that could be done. They were useless to him.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 4, Part 3  
**_**Hopeless**_

Aside from Toki telling everyone about how sick he was, it was also the moment that he and Pickles openly told them that they were together. Nobody took it well. Skwisgaar still hated the drummer for everything he'd put Toki thru previously, and Murderface wasn't too kind about the fact that they were both men.

"Sho you're dying _and _you're gay? That'sh fucked up..."

But they didn't care, because in the end nobody really understood how badly they needed each other. A period of about a month passed and things weren't getting any better. Despite the fact that Toki's condition was worsening, the fans still dictated their lives, so the album was not put on hold. Ofdensen continued to make sure that they spent a good amount of time in the studio each day. Nathan tried to go easy on the clearly distressed Norwegian, but it didn't help him very much. He'd wait until the guitarist had finished his two cups of coffee then approach him.

"You ready to record?" he'd ask gently.

Toki would always nod, get his guitar, and tirelessly drag himself into the studio. Nobody made any comments when he recorded, either. They all just watched thru the glass in silence, not sure of what to say. Skwisgaar had gone from being a discouraging nuisance to actually giving Toki pointers and compliments. It was funny, the Norwegian thought to himself; to get the respect and appreciation he'd always longed for, he had to be dying? It was an odd thought, but then again, life was an odd thing.

But still he recorded until one day he fell against the wall of the studio and dropped his guitar. This was it, he couldn't take it anymore. He was so tired, so ready to just give up and go to sleep for a little while...his eyes drifted closed and the world turned into a veil of gray mist. There was yelling, he was sure, but nothing too bad. By the time he regained consciousness, Pickles was holding him, slapping his cheek lightly in an attempt to wake him up.

"Dude, are you okay? Wake up! You're scarin' the shit outta me..." Toki sighed and opened his eyes. Everyone was staring down at him, their faces full of concern. Pickles looked helpless and a little guilty. "You okay?"

He shrugged and sat up and ran a hand thru his now short hair. "I don'ts know. What happened?"

"You passed out."

"Ammnest you okays?" Skwisgaar asked, reaching out to help him to his feet. "You scares us."

"Sorrys."

"Don't be sorry, kid." Nathan mumbled. He seemed ashamed wit himself as he commented, "It wouldn't have happened if I wouldn't have made you record."

"You didn't makes me."

"But I didn't have to let you!"

"Dude, I don't think 'dats helpin'." Pickles said, trying to calm the singer down. "Just let him have a minute to breathe before you start yellin' and blaming people, alright?" he kissed Toki's cheek and whispered softly, "You can go to our room if you want."

_Our _room. The Norwegian dared to smile at this as he was hauled to his feet by a caring and gentle Skwisgaar. "You needs helps?"

"No, I cans dos it. I'm sorry I ruined the stupids recording, guys." he apologized. "I shoulds have known what I could and couldn'ts do."

"Jusht shut up and go take nap, dildo." Murderface commented. Toki nodded and walked with Skwisgaar over to the door of the studio. Pickles watched him go, a sick look of worry on his face.

Nathan noticed the drummer's expression and asked grimly, "The kid's not going to be okay, is he? Should we start looking for a replacement?"

"I..." he couldn't answer, the singer's words cut him too deeply, reminded him once again of just how bad the situation was. He couldn't think, couldn't function. Toki had always saved him, comforted him and kept him sane while he was drunk—and probably stopped him from committing suicide many times, too—but now he couldn't even save him from a slowly approaching death? The one time that he was actually needed, he couldn't do what was being asked of him. What kind of cruel irony was that? Who would wish this on either of them?

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 4, Part 4  
**_**Lost**_

Toki laid in Pickles' bed unable to go to sleep now that he actually had the chance to. There were words, ideas in his mind that he couldn't ignore, and all of them lead back to the suicide story. It seemed like such a simple way out. Even his uncle had killed himself, that he remembered. He had been there that day, seen the bullet rip thru flesh, bone, and tissue. Toki swallowed and closed his eyes, tried to picture what he'd look like with his brains spilled out all over the cold stone of the floor. His stupid uncle. That man had disturbed and tormented him perhaps more than than his father had—_perhaps._

"Toki," he had said, motioning for the boy to come closer to him. Of course he had obeyed the man's request. He didn't know the horror that was about to come, could only dimly sense the danger.

His mother and father had left them alone again to go to late-night Sunday service. His uncle hadn't had a drink in a very long time, so they'd actually left him in charge of Toki for once; the man had said he'd stopped drinking, and that was the only reason he'd been allowed back into the house. Perhaps that's what gave him the confidence to grab his nephew's arm and pull him into his arms.

"_Kjære barn_, do you know that there's a story of a man who lives forever?"

"There is?" he stood stiffly in his uncle's arms, tried to ignore the man's warm, wandering touch.

"Do you want to hear the story?"

"No, I don't think I would..." he had learned to hate his uncle. After years of helplessly accepting unwanted attention, he had grown to become very wary of the drunk. Undoubtedly he was still a hardened alcoholic; no matter what the man still found his ways to get his alcohol. Now as he breathed, Toki could smell the hot, strong booze on his breath. Where he'd gotten it, he'd never know. It would never matter.

His uncle touched him and smiled. "You're a good boy, do you know that?"

"Sure."

"Such a nice, sweet boy..." he hugged Toki close and began to cry. His nephew softened a bit at this; he'd never in his life seen a grown man cry before.

"Uncle, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Yes," he slurred. "very hurt, k_jære barn." _his touch became more intimate, and Toki tried to shrink back.

"Please don't..." he ended the hug and stared into his uncle's eyes. They weren't like they'd been months ago. They'd gone from true and pure to glazed over and unsure, almost as if the thoughts in his mind were skewed and he couldn't decide what he wanted to do or say.

"The man lives forever, but forever is shorter than eternity." his uncle said. He rose to his full height and took Toki's hand in a tight grip. "There is a secret thing that your father hides in his room—did you know this?"

"No. What is it?" he asked as they walked.

"You'll see, my boy." he lead Toki into his parent's room and watched as his uncle went over to the dresser, opened it, and dug thru piles of clothes.

"What are you looking for? Can I help?"

He shook his head. "No, not anymore." and from beneath the piles of clean clothes, he brought out a shiny black revolver. He held it out to Toki with a bitter sort of smile on his still ageless, beautiful face. "Do you know what it is?"

"A...gun?"

"You are a wonderfully smart child." he said, holding the gun out of Toki's grasp. "You can't touch it, though, no matter what, okay? I don't want you to get hurt." Toki watched in surprise as his uncle knelt down; he pressed a hand to his nephew's cheek and kissed his forehead. "I think you'll grow up to be very much like me, perhaps more than you'd like. I do love you, though, more than my own son. You aren't scared of me, are you?"

He shook his head. "No, sir." he didn't know quite why, but he gave his uncle a hug then. Why did he feel as if he were saying goodbye? His uncle just smiled and accepted it then pulled him off and quickly sent him out the door. "But why can't I stay with you?"

"You won't like what you see."

"But what are you going to-"

"Goodbye, Toki. Don't open the door, whatever you do. Do you promise?"

He nodded. "Yes, I promise, but why-" and his uncle shut the door in his face. He was drunk, though, too stupid to realize that he hadn't _locked _the damn door. Toki had barley opened it before he watched his uncle go over to the mirror that stood next to the dresser.

"And the man, he lives and every day he does eternity withers and cries; so is the way of the man who never dies." slowly he put the barrel of the gun into his mouth. Where was that precious, lifesaving alcohol now? It was all his uncle had to live for, yet when he needed it most it wasn't around. Toki's breath caught in his throat. He tried to scream, but his voice only came out as a whisper of dismay. He tried to move, but his body resisted him, and so he stood and watched as his uncle pulled the trigger.

In that moment his heart was ripped, not in half but just wounded without any chance of repair. It wasn't the fact that it was his uncle, but more the fact that he was able to look in and cheat, to see a little bit of human life wash away from the Earth. Was it really that easy to take away life like that, to force one's soul into disintegration? He let out a little cry, watched as his uncle's blood dripped slowly, disgustingly down the smooth glass of the mirror. Now, so many years later, as he laid in bed inches away from sleep, something else entered his mind.

_And the man, he lives and every day he does eternity withers and cries; so is the way of the man who never dies._

Without knowing quite what else to do, Toki arose from bed, went to get his notebook, and opened it to the list he'd begun before. He didn't know what purpose it would serve, only that now it seemed as though it were the only thing he even bothered to keep himself alive for. So, in a careful, trembling hand, he wrote as his eyes were consumed with tears:

_1] Pickles_

_2] Father_

_3] Mother _

_4] Uncle Agnar_

_5] Skwisgaar _

_6] Murderface_

_7] Nathan_

_8]_

_9]_

_10]_

_11]_

_12]_

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

****A/N****

**Yep, and so that's what happened...humm...that was moderatley discouraging, wasn't it? What the hell is wrong with me? O_O**

**While I try to figure that out, just know that there isn't much left of this story. The next Pickles/Toki fic I publish will be a lot lighter and not nearly as dark. It might even be a little funny [*GASP* the Last Flowerchild can do _funny? _I don't know, probably]. I don't want to bore you with any more dismal storylines or anything—I'll save those for _later _[^_^] As always, I appreicate reviews and will answer any questions you may have. **

**And did everyone else know that Pickles was bald? I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me, because that fact just registered yesterday. I was watching _Metalocalypse _and it finally clicked in my small, hippie mind that he was bald. Huh. He's still amazingly adorable, though. **

**Peace & Love**


	6. Chapter 6

"_I wish a storm would  
__come & blow this shit  
__away. Or a bomb to  
__burn the Town & scour  
__the sea. I wish clean  
__death would come to me."_

_-Jim Morrison—book: _the American Night—_poem: Hurricane & Eclipse_

**Chapter 6, Part 1  
**_**No Shame**_

Weeks passed. Toki did nothing—had the energy to do nothing—other than sleep. He'd go to the doctor, get his radiation therapy, and take his pills every day, but that was about it. He slept in Pickles' bed all day, and when the drummer approached him about his declining condition Toki just shrugged off his concerns. "I ams fine."

"Then get up and _do _something!"

"I'ms too tired, maybes later."

Pickles narrowed his eyes at the guitarist. "Don't give me that shit. At least tell me if you're nat gonna get up, don't lie to me."

"Fines." Toki stretched and then relaxed into the mattress, a look of exhaustion on his face. "Then I won'ts gets up. Face it, Pickle, I'm dones. I don't haves anything left to give you or anyones—I'm dying."

"Fuck that crap! Get up!" he pleaded, seizing the Norwegian's hand. "This is so stupid! I'm not gonna sit back and watch you screw away your life!"

"It ams already being screwed away anyways!"

"Do you know what you're doin' to me, to everyone? Everyday Skwisgaar comes in, checks an you, and yesterday he asked me what the hell was wrong with you. He said you just laid there and didn't say anything, just laid there like you were already dead."

"Fucks you." Toki snapped, closing his eyes. "Just lets me sleep."

Pickles sighed and released his hold on the guitarist's hand. He watched as Toki's chest rose and fell beneath the warm covers of the bed. Rise, and fall, rise and fall. "Maybe we rushed into things." he said finally. "Maybe we said 'I love you' too fast, y'know?"

Toki opened his eyes and focused his blue gaze on the drummer, looking quite hurt at his words. "What ams you mean?"

"We barley know each other, we-"

"I tolds you _everythings _about me!"

"I know, but maybe we rushed it." he said. "Two days after we really started talkin' we were saying we loved each other..."

"Because we dos!"

"Do we?"

Toki shrugged his skinny, wasted shoulders. "I know I loves you, and we've spent more than just those few days talkings, Pickle. You knows that. We've been friends for years."

"Maybe we should've just stayed friends?" it hurt him to say this, but it was true. This was too much, he couldn't handle it.

"So you regret ever takings me out to eat?"

"Fuck no."

"Then what is this? Why the fuck don't you wants to be with me anymores?"

Pickles looked away and swallowed. "I...of course I wanna be with you."

"Then why ams you-"

"Because you're dying and you don't even care!" he blurted, letting tears run down his face. He'd held it in for so long, but he couldn't stand it anymore. Toki gave him a concerned, half fearful look, and shook his head. He didn't say anything until Pickles continued. "You just don't get it, do you? How can I still hope when not even you do anymore?"

There was a moment of silence before the guitarist said, a cruel smile on his face, "Well then why don't you just kills yourself if you can't stand it? You tried to dos that once, didn't you?"

"Twice." he answered, his face going pale.

"And hows did it happen—who stopped you?"

"Nobody."

"Then why ams you still alive?"

Pickles swallowed and said brokenly, "Y'know, I hate to admit it, but my dad did teach me something while I was living with him."

"Whats was that?"

He hesitated before saying quietly, "He thought me that giving up don't make you worth a shit, Toki. It means that you might as well go rot, because you take yourself and the time you've got for granted anyways."

The Norwegian scoffed. "Sos what? You thinks I'd be better off dead?"

"No, don't you ever say 'dat!"

"Then what the fucks ams you saying? I don't even know how to talks to you anymore, Pickle! It ams like you're not tellings me something..."

"I'm tellin' you everything!"

Toki shook his head. "No you ams not. What the hell ams wrong with you?" he let the drummer take his hand and kiss it softly. In some abandoned, deep recess of his mind, the guitarist remembered every exchange he'd had with his father and uncle and shuttered. The world and everyone in it, it seemed, had hurt him in every way imaginable. It had never crossed his mind that someone else could live with the kind of hurt that he suffered with every day, but here was the only person he loved, standing before him and silently pleading for some excuse to share a little bit of the pain he'd lived thru. How could Toki refuse? "How did you gets hurt?"

"My dad-" an agonized look came across his face as he spoke. "-he kept a gun in the house, in case someone ever broke in. Tomahawk wasn't the best place to raise a family, but what did he care? He never gave a fuck about me..." those old feelings of abandonment and utter solitude returned to him. "Nobody _ever _cared." Toki said nothing, and the drummer dared to continue. "So I got the stupid gun, but he caught me, looked me dead in the eye, and said, 'Go ahead, be a man. I dare you. Kill yourself before I do it for you'..."

"So whats did you do?" the guitarist asked fearfully. "You shoots yourself?"

He grinned and said bitterly, "Course I did, 'cause I was smart and I was gonna teach him a big lesson about fuckin' with me. You know where I ended up?"

"Wheres?"

"In the damn hospital talkin' to a therapist for a month. When they let me go, my dad just acted like nothing had happened." he shook his head. "Bullshit. I should've tried it again. I only live for alcohol now anyway..."

"Only alcohol? Whats about me?"

His green eyes shined with regret as he inquired, "I don't know. What _about _you?" Toki shrugged, a clear indicator of just how confused and helpless he was feeling. Pickles sighed and crawled into the bed; he laid down next to him and stared up at the ceiling. They were both quiet for a long while. Toki glanced over, watched as the drummer blinked.

It almost seemed as if Pickles was trying not to look at him. Suddenly it hit Toki. Everything that he'd been fearing over the past few weeks came flooding back to him, filling him and corrupting his thoughts like a deadly poison. The drummer wasn't looking at him—_couldn't _look at him—because he no longer saw Toki as himself. He now longer thought the Norwegian was beautiful, just painful to look at, a pitiful, withering thing, slowly wasting away and dying before his eyes. Toki swallowed. No, Pickles no longer loved him. How could you love someone you couldn't even look at? He was like a withering rose; how could someone walk by a shriveling, once beautifully bloomed flower and still think it pretty? The guitarist was like walking reminder of the inevitable, of death.

"Pickle, when you looks at me, do you see _me?"_

He didn't meet his gaze, instead just shrugged. "Of course I do."

"No you don't. You sees Death, don'ts you?" he asked, biting his lower lip shamefully. _Death floating around me, following me everywhere I go, like a mist,_ he thought painfully. _Because everyone I've ever loved has died, even my uncle... _"You...you just looks at me and sees me going away from you, don't you? Ams that why you hates me now?"

"I don't hate you."

"But you don't loves me anymore?"

Pickles turned and stared at him, a deep frown on his face. "I love you more than anything."

"But you can'ts looks at me."

"I'm lookin' at you now, dude."

Toki let out a ragged breath. "Pickle, do you thinks I'll die?"

The drummer immediately shook his head. "No, I can't imagine that."

" 'Cause I thinks I will, and you know the weird part? I'm nots scared, I'm _terrified. _It's like something I've never felt before in my whole life, a different kinds of fear altogether. I-" his voice cracked; he cleared his throat and whispered, "Pickle, what happens to us after we die? We don'ts gets a second chance, do we?"

Another shake of his head and, "Nah, I don't think we do."

"Then wills you fucks me?" he asked eagerly. "Wills you say with me all nights?"

He thought about it—wanted so desperately to say yes—but ultimately pulled away. "No, I can't. Look at yourself, you can't even get up outta bed; imagine if I made love to you. You'd be so weak..."

"I woulds just sleeps for a few days and everything would be back to normals." he smiled at Pickles and asked innocently, that old, boyish innocence returning to him, "Please? Befores I die-"

"You're nat gonna die."

"-I wants to be alone with you for a night."

Pickles once again resisted. "I can't, I'm sorry! I want to so bad, but-"

"Then marrys me."

He laughed. "Wh-what?"

"Marrys me! I loves you and you loves me—you wants to be with me untils I die, right?"

Pickles nodded. "Of course I do, dude."

"Then marrys me! Right now, let's just leaves and-"

"Toki, don't be stupid. Don't you think I've already thought of 'dat?" he grinned and kissed the guitarist's lips. "We're gonna get married as soon as you get better and have had time to get your life back together. We're gonna do it, there's no need to rush."

Toki let out a dry sob. "Yes there ams! Don't you gets it? I'm dyings!"

Pickles leaned closer to him and whispered, "Then I'll die with you."

Was this it? Toki returned the drummer's smile, tried to reassure him that he was alright, but in the end just felt worse than he had before. What was the point in living if there was nothing to live for? Empty promises of marriage, pledges to be there for one another forever...it meant nothing to him, because he was dying _right now. _No, sooner than that. He was so sick of looking in the mirror, watching his eyes loose their luster, watching his hair thin out. He watched every day as his body wasted away, became nothing but useless bone and skin. Why should he live his life like this? Why should he die a hollow shell of what he used to be, a cruel, distorted model of his old self?

Yes, he would die, but not due to anything other than his own will.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 6, Part 2  
**_**Almost Goodbye**_

Toki sat alone in Pickles' room, chewing on his pen like always, staring down at the blank sheet of loose leaf paper that was in his lap. What should he say? What could be said other than how he hated himself for losing? He'd lost at everything he'd ever done in his life before, but this was the ultimate loss. He refused to lose his life to any kind of sickness, so he'd lose it by a different avenue. This was his only escape, his only option if he didn't want to spend what few days he had left alone and miserable in some hospital bed. He wasn't getting better, after all.

A gun. He had needed a gun. Ofdensen kept a gun in his office, in case of a sudden fan attack. Sneaking up there had been easy—none of the Klokateers would dare question one of their Lords—and so now he sat in his room, caressing the cold metal of the revolver. He hoped Pickles would find his body. He'd caught the drummer drunk a few nights ago, totally out of his right mind. They'd almost fucked, but in the end the drummer had regained his sense and pushed Toki away. Maybe now he'd regret that.

Now he sat, smiling down at the paper. He didn't even hear the door open and Pickles walk in. "Hey, dude, Skwisgaar wants to know if..." he stopped as his eyes took in the scene before him. "Toki, what's with the gun? What're you-"

"Gets out, please." he tried to act normal. "I'ms busy."

"No, nat until you tell me what the livin' fuck you think you're doing." he said, closing and locking the door. He strode over to the bed, reached for the gun, but the guitarist snatched it away and pointed it at himself. Pickles chuckled nervously. " 'Dat Ofdensen's?"

He nodded. "Ja."

"I told him he should get rid of it...I warned him that you might just go aff and snap...everybody's been snapping lately." Pickles said, sitting down on the bed. He took Toki's notebook of lists and flipped thru it, a fascinated, oddly calm look on his face. "Huh. Lots of words in here, dude. What do they all mean?" His mind was screaming and begging him to try and take the gun away from the guitarist, but he knew if he did then that would be it, the trigger would be pulled.

Toki just stood there, trembling. "Nothings that you would-"

"Hey, my name's an this one!" he exclaimed, indicating the list numbered 1-12. He read it silently and frowned.

_1] Pickles_

_2] Father_

_3] Mother _

_4] Uncle Agnar_

_5] Skwisgaar _

_6] Murderface_

_7] Nathan_

_8]_

_9]_

_10]_

_11]_

_12]_

"Why didn't you finish it?"

Toki shrugged and clicked the hammer back on the gun, trying to show Pickles just how serious he was. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymores."

"Huh." he threw the book to the side and gave the guitarist a friendly, warm smile. "Okay, so what now? You pull that trigger, kill yourself, and what? We replace you and the world goes an, right? The only difference is that you're not in it."

"Whats a-about you?"

Pickles thought for a moment then shrugged. "Guess I'll have to just pick up the pieces and wonder why, but that's what you want, right? You just want someone to think of you once in a while, to care. You want to make the pain go away, to kill that sickness before it kills you, huh?"

Toki paled. "How you knows so much?"

"I can read your face and I've been right where you are." The drummer answered, getting to his feet with a heavy, labored sigh. "And I've pulled that trigger and seen a little of what's an the other side. You wanna know what it is?"

"W-Whats?" he asked, his eyes filling with tears and his voice quaking with emotion. He let Pickles take a step nearer him and reach for his hand that was holding the gun.

"Nothing. It's empty unless you have someone who you're dying with, or a damn _reason _to die."

"So you wills die with me?"

"Hell no, but I'll sure as fuck_ live_ with you." he paused and indicated the notebook. "That list, what's it for? It's gat my name on it and Skwisgaar's and-"

"It was supposed to be twelve peoples whats I hate." Toki cried, his hands shaking. "Twelve people whose faces I wanted to sees when they finds out that I ams dead; I wanted to see how many people would regrets it, be sads that I'm gone. Twelve people..."

"And one of them's me?" he asked, sounding quite hurt. "You hate me?" Toki didn't answer, just continued to hold the gun, aiming it straight at his head. Pickles leaned forward, kissed his cheek lightly, and whispered, "You could do it right now, pull the trigger. End yourself. What am I gonna do? What are you giving me the power to do? Nothing. You wanna die, to rip me and all those other people on that list apart? Go ahead, pull the trigger. Be a man. Are you a man?" he asked, recalling his father's cold words.

"N-Nos."

"Then what are you? Are you weak, a coward?"

Toki nodded. "Maybes I ams all of those things, after all. Maybe my dads was rights..."

Pickles shook his head and said firmly, "No, you're not. Whoever told you that lied to you, they fuckin' _lied. _You're so much more than you think you are! I can't believe that you're even considering doing this." and he pointed to the notebook again and said, "There was only seven names on that list, not twelve. What happened to the other five? Couldn't think of any? Well what about this, what about reasons that you should live. Ever thought of 'dat?"

Toki shook his head. "No, 'cause I don't haves any."

Pickles scoffed, as if personally insulted by his words. "Well, let's see." he flipped open the notebook, turned to the list of names, and picked up the nearby chewed-on pen. "Okay, number eight—you're a Gad damned musical genius, but I guess you're right; that don't count for much, you should just kill yourself and waste that talent. Good choice so far." he scrawled onto the paper:

_8] Music_

"And nine...what about the millions of dildos that fuckin' worship the ground you walk an? I'm sure you forgot about all your fans, right?"

_9] Fans_

"And then there's the billions of dollars you worked your whole life to get, but that don't count for much neither, does it?"

_10] Money_

"So if money don't count, then neither does _Dethklok, _right? Neither does Skwisgaar, Nathan, Murderface, or Ofdensen, the people who've been your damn family for most of your life. Yeah, they don't count for much either, huh?"

_11] Dethklok_

"And the last one. Let's think about this one really, really hard." Pickles said, staring into Toki's wide, terrified eyes. "What should the last one be? What's the biggest reason to live that you can think of?"

"Y-Yous." he whispered. The drummer arched a brow.

"Sorry? Didn't hear you very good. Speak up?"

"Yous!"

"Uh-huh. Me." and he scrawled onto the list:

_12] Pickles the Drummer_

Once he was done, he threw the list back at Toki and said, "There's your fuckin' list, right there! So go ahead and blow your Gad damned brains out now that you know all you have to live for and lose! Fuck you if you're really that mindless, that weak." he got up and turned his back to the Norwegian. "If you really are, then I guess you're not the person I fell in love with."

Toki let out a frustrated cry and threw the gun onto the ground. "What? Who dids you falls in love with? Me, a stupids, sick, dying person who ams so weak that-"

"No! You're braver and a hell of a lot stronger than I ever wish I could be!" the drummer howled, pounding his fist against the wall in a display of rage. "And I'm not just gonna sit back and let you give up! I've worked to hard for that—_we've _worked too hard for that, don't you get it?"

The guitarist fell to his knees, stared down at the notebook that was in front of him. "Then what ams I going to do, just wait and let the cancer kills me?"

"No," Pickles said, turning to face him. "I don't know what the hell you're gonna do, but I'm gonna tell you what you're _not _gonna do. You're _not _gonna ever put a gun to your head again and you're _not _gonna ever think for one second that the world wouldn't miss you. I'd tear myself apart if you died, I'd be lost, better aff dead, 'cause you're the only person who cares enough to keep the booze away from me and...and..." he went over, scooped Toki up into his arms, and brought him over to the bed. He laid him down, kissed him, and whispered, "It's gonna be okay, you just have to remember that, alright? You're gonna get better and I'm gonna be there for you no matter what."

"Okays."

"Don't ever try that again, okay?"

He nodded. "Sures. I'm sorrys."

"Don't be. Just look-" he slipped something cool onto Toki's finger and whispered, "-we're gonna get married after all of this, I swear."

The guitarist peered down at his finger and saw a shining, gold band around it—a wedding ring. He smiled and nodded. "Okays, I guess I can stick around."

He'd always heard that sucide was actually the most selfish thing a person could do, and now that he had been saved from it he supposed it was. Still, something in the back of his mind told him that it wasn't, that Pickles was the selfish one for asking him to live and rot away...what could he do? Didn't taking yourself away from the Earth make you braver than most? Toki doubted the fact that he was brave, but he accpeted the fact that he might be selfish. In any case, it dindn't matter anymore; nothing mattered.

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

**Chapter 6, Part 3  
**_**The Last Goodbye**_

He was in a hospital bed, hooked up to an annoying I.V. And a heart monitor, listening to the steady beeping of the machinery. He could barley keep his eyes open, but somehow he managed to smile over at Pickles, who was clearly tortured. "It ams okay, Pickle."

"Y-Yeah," he said wretchedly, giving the Norwegian a weak smile. "I know."

"I loves you." he muttered, reaching for the drummer's hand. Pickles just looked down and ran a shaking hand thru his hair.

"Gad, Toki..."

"It's goings to be okay, right? You tolds me so." Like always he was exhausted and weak. This was it, Toki thought, the last bit of life he had left in him would be spent here. He felt so stretched, so dragged out. He knew that it was only by some miracle that he'd lived this long at all, but he still did want desperately to live. The wedding ring that Pickles had given him a few months ago hung on a gold chain around his neck; he'd lost more weight and the ring no longer fit.

"You knows something?" he asked, his voice a nearly inaudible whisper.

"What?" the drummer asked, kissing the guitarist's hand. Toki smiled at him and blushed. Pickles laughed at this. "I love you like that; you look so fuckin' adorable."

"Ams you going to be okay?"

"Okay for what?"

"Whens I...you knows..."

"Oh." he nodded and the laughter in his face abruptly melted away. Both of them knew that death was unavoidable.

"Wills you be okay?"

"Y-Yeah," he said, trying not to sound so broken. "I'll be fine, I guess."

"And Skwisgaar and the others?"

"We'll all take care of each other."

Toki nodded. "Goods. I—the ring." he closed his eyes. "Can you puts it on my finger for me?"

"Yeah, sure." Pickles got up and undid the chain; he slid off the ring and got down on one knee. "Toki Wartooth, will you marry me?"

"You already asks me that, idiot."

"Well maybe your answer changed."

He smiled and shook his head. "Nos it hasn't. I'll marry you." he held out his hand and chuckled as the drummer slipped the ring onto his skinny finger. "You ams toos good to me, staying with me thru all of this. You stills wants to marry me?"

He nodded and grinned. "And fuck you...do you remember 'dat time I was drunk and I first told you that I loved you? Remember what I said? I wanna fuck you...you wanna suck my dick?"

Toki laughed. "I remembers that! I remembers that I really, really wanted to..." And his voice trailed off. His face attained a look of sort of solemnity as he mumbled quietly, "I'lls miss you. Do you thinks we'll see each other agains after I gos away?"

"Yeah, we have to." he answered.

"Wills I be allowed to wait for you?"

Pickles tried to make him smile again by joking, "Sure, but only if I'm allowed to hurry up and die."

They both grew silent and just sat there, enjoying one other's presence. In the past few days they'd talked about these things quite often, but it still didn't help put to rest any of their mounting discomfort. The professionals at the hospital said he had a week left, maybe two if he was lucky. Was Toki ready to die? Yes, but not to say goodbye to Pickles. He guessed that the actual death wouldn't be so bad, only the goodbyes. He contemplated this in silence until the door opened. A doctor stepped inside, dressed in white scrubs like all the other doctors. Surprisingly, a look of unexpected joy was on his face as he nodded to the guitarist. "Well, there's good news—the tests from yesterday actually show improvement."

His eyes grew wide. "Whats does that mean?" he felt Pickles squeezing his hand so tightly that it was almost painful. "I'ms getting _better?"_

The doctor nodded. "It would appear so, slowly but surely. In a few months you should be quite healthy." he glanced down at the papers he was holding and frowned. "Quite a miracle, actually, a complete turn-around. Yes, you should recover quite nicely."

"I..._whats?"_

"Dude..." Pickles whispered, his green eyes growing wide. He squeezed Toki's hand. "You're nat gonna die...you're nat gonna-"

The doctor just nodded and then made a hasty exit as the two men celebrated. Pickles wrapped his arms around the guitarist's neck and began sobbing, repeating mindlessly, "You're not gonna die, can you believe that? You're not gonna die, you're not gonna..."

"You thoughts I would?"

"N-No." he lied, crying.

Toki could only bring himself to laugh and embrace the drummer tightly. "I'm still reallys, reallys tired, though."

"Fuck that!"

"And I feels like crap."

"Screw you!" he sobbed. "Screw everything, 'cause you're getting better and it's almost-" he gasped in realization, pulled away from the guitarist, and stared into those wondrous blue eyes. "-it's almost over. Can you believe that? You're almost out of it, it'll only be a little while now...Gad, you've been sick for so damn long..."

"I'ms really lucky, I guess." he said, a bright, cheerful smile on his face. "For once." he felt the gold band that was still on his slender finger and his eyes filled with tears. As he and the other man cried, all he could think was about the twelfth—and best—reason for him to live:

_Pickles the Drummer._

**: :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: : : :: : :::: :: :**

****A/N****

**And that's the end. This story feels like it took _forever _to finish, and that's why I just decided to not skip a day and upload it right now. I want to post my next story, the first chapter of which I've already got typed up. Oh, the excitement never ends! :P**

**The end wasn't so bad, was it? It will take Toki some time to return to his old self, but at least he's alive. Aren't you happy? No, I couldn't kill him, because I love him and I already did that in, _Never Again, _so I've had my fill of writing about Toki dying. It's just plain depressing and I cry and bad shit happens because my mom thinks I'm suicidal and cry for no reason...ANWYAYS, Reviews are appreciated. **

**ALSO, forgot to mention this before, but the poem that was said by Toki's uncle before he committed suicide-_And the man, he lives and every day he does eternity withers and cries; so is the way of the man who never dies._-was thought up in a second by me. Just mentioning this for...I don't know...copyright reasons or whatever. Does 'copyright' even exist on this website? Either way, please respect my work. I know you will, because you're awesome and amazing. ^_^ Thanks for reading.**

**Until next time, Peace & Love**


End file.
